#mm season 14

[asimp4bee]

HIVE THE LONG POST I BEG OF YOU

Okay you asked for this, we're gonna be here for a while 💀

This is a continuation of this post!

5. Megatron (MTMTE/LL)

I love his design and I'm a sucker for reformed antagonists/villains. Also him in this specific artstyle makes me feel things <\\33

6. TFP Arcee

MOTHER. Her voice, God her voice. I love her. I would smooch her and kiss her hand.

7. TF:E Elita-One

MOTHER PT.2. It's a crime we hardly get much content involving Elita in shows/movies. I love her design in TFE sm :(( hope we get more of her in season 2

8. TF:E Megatron

Again, I'm a sucker for reformed antagonists/villains. Also his design in Earthspark is gorgeous. The way interacts with Twitch :(( my heart, I love him, he's so sweet.

9. TF:E Soundwave

MF IS THE DEFINITION OF HOURGLASS. HIS HIPS LORD— Ahem.

10. TFP Ratchet

I love him. I love fictional grumpy old men. Especially if they're giant alien robots. There's a lot I love about Ratchet's character in TFP and I love him :((

11. RiD 2015 Windblade

MOTHER PT.3. I love her voice. I love her design. Her colors UGHHHH kissing her hand and treating her right mm-hmm.

12. Ultra Magnus (MTMTE/LL)

I love Magnus so so much. I love his design, I love his personality, HES JUST SO UGH. And him in this artstyle also makes me feel things <33

13. TFP Optimus

I love him. He deserves everything, deserves the world 😭 i just wanna be held by him and vice versa. He deserves sm love and smooches

14. TFP Ultra Magnus

Same thing as MTMTE Magnus <33

15. Knightverse Optimus

I love him sm. He deserves everything and the way he kept blaming himself in the movie??? GOD I JUST WANTED TO HUG HIM SO BAD. I love him :(((

Okay and that's pretty much all of them <333 (I think-)

[snugglebugs]

KAI SMITH flip (caregiver-leaning!)

Kai Ninjago Smith is ABSOLUTELY an age regressor are you KIDDING me are you JOKING me. He is BASICALLY CANONICALLY an age regressor!!!!

> "I bet he loves being treated like a baby..." (Nya, Season 14, Episode 6, Call From The Abyss)... Yeah he does because he IS a baby. He is THE baby. He is BABY.

His entire traumatic backstory is that, after his parents were taken from him from an early age, he had to step into a parental role for his little sister and become the adult of the family while still being a child himself. He had to grow up before he even really had a chance to grow at all. On-screen, we see that once his parents return and he's no longer forced into that role of responsibility, he canonically regresses into childish habits and language we have never before seen him use or display beforehand.

"Ham and cheese sandwiches with crispy bacon? Oh thanks, Mommy! You're the best! Mm... bacon is the best, too!" (Kai, Season 14, Episode 6, Call From The Abyss).

Conclusion? Kai Smith is the most age-regressor to ever age regress ever I will not take criticism because I am OBJECTIVELY CORRECT.

Anyway!! I think Kai is regresses from 5-9~ years old. We can tell from his diction that he doesn't seem to be a baby regressor (at least in this scene), as he's capable of fully-formed sentences and has the cognitive skills required to play video games, so that leads me to believe he might be a little-middlespace regressor! Kai's parents left when he was around 5, so it makes sense he wouldn't be an infant regressor, but around the little-middle spectrum, regressing into the same range of years in which he didn't have a chance to be a child before.

I don't just think he's an age regressor, though, I also think he's a flip, too! He definitely has some care-giving tendencies built-in to him from having to be a caretaker for his little sister for so many years, and so he pretty naturally slips into the role of a big brother caregiver! I imagine he leans more towards the caregiving side then the regressing side, just because being a caregiver is what he's used to being - what he's always had to be - but that may be prone to change as he becomes more comfortable with his regression! He hates regressing around the other age regressors, especially when they're regressed, because he feels like when they're small he has to be big and adult to take care of them regardless of his own headspace. We can see his caregiver tendencies displayed in... countless interactions with Lloyd. Speaking of...

LLOYD MONTGOMERY GARMADON age regressor!

I am, once again, OBJECTIVELY correct. Lloyd is basically canonically an age regressor. He IS canonically an age regressor. He is, quite literally, a child stuck in a teenager's body -- as in he was a child and then magic age-up tea turned his body into a teenager's but still left him with the mental capacity of a child. Which is the DEFINITION of what an age regressor is!! Bodily an adult but mentally a child!! He IS an age regressor!!!!

And even if that WASN'T the case, he'd probably be an age regressor anyway, because, like. Look at him. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders since he was, like, eight, was unable to be a child because he had to endure constant rigorous training and when he WASN'T training he was undergoing countless traumatic experiences while he was still a child.

> Lloyd: "Well...The latest issue of Starfarer just came in at Doomsday Comix and it's a limited run, so if I don't go out and get it, it's going to sell out. Last they left off, intergalactic rogue Fritz Donnegan was surrounded by the Imperial Sludge, and if I don't find out if he gets out alright, I think I might have my own doomsday!" Kai: "The fate of Ninjago rests on your shoulders. As the Green Ninja, you have a giant responsibility to hold. I'm sorry, but you don't have time for such childish things." Lloyd: "Other kids get to play and have fun. All I ever do is train..." (Season 2, Episode 18, Child's Play)

I don't even think I need to argue my case that hard for why Lloyd is an age regressor. I think it'd be harder to argue why he ISN'T an age regressor, actually. TRY to argue that he's not an age regressor. TRY. I BET you CAN'T.

I don't have much evidence for this one, but I imagine he may be a pet regressor, too! He's an oni-dragon-hybrid, after all, and his heritage have proven to come with strong instincts regarding this animalistic half of his genes, as seen throughout the Oni Trilogy.

COLE BROOKSTONE caregiver!

Look at him. JUST LOOK AT HIM. The most caregiver to ever caregive ever forever. He has chronic can't-stop-adopting-children syndrome. He's adopted, like, three separate children at this point. It is becoming a problem.

"Huh? Oh, no. Don't make that face. Don't cry. Oh, I can't take it any more. Hey, look at me. Hehe. Yeah. I'm not sad. Ha-ha, I'm not crying. Oh, fine. But this is between you and me. Shine, little glow worm, glimmer glimmer. Hey there, don't get dimmer, dimmer. You like that, huh? Well, there's more where that came from. Glow, little glow worm. Glow and Glimmer—" (Cole, Season 8, Episode 5, Dead Man's Squall)

When his mentor canonically (mentally & physically) regressed into an infant his first and immediate instinct was to adopt and care for them. If that isn't agere caregiver behaviour I don't know WHAT is. HE BECAME THE FATHER TO AN INDIVIDUAL REGRESSED FROM THEIR NORMAL HEADSPACE INTO A CHILD.... HE'S LITERALLY A CAREGIVER GUYS!!!!!! I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE YOU WANT ME TO SAY!!!!!!! I AM JUST STRAIGHT-UP CORRECT!!!!!!!!!!!

JAY WALKER padded regressor!

"Jay: Aah! [He picks up a ruined stuffed toy.] Mister Cuddlywomp… [sobs] is a teddy bear I used to love when I was five, but now he's totally lame and—

Cole: We know you still sleep with him.

Jay: And I don't care who knows it! Mister Cuddlywomp..." (Season 7, Episode 6, The Attack)

Jay Walker is DEFINTELY a regressor. His personality has been noted to be very child-like and babyish at times, to the point where the fandom (and showwriters) tend to infantilize him, despite the fact that in his own right he can be a very serious character when he need be. As much as I do believe he's an age regressor, it's important to remember he can be very capable and competent character when he's big, too, and not to define him by his regression!

If he's any regressor, it's definitely a padded regressor. Throughout the show, it's become a running bit that he's a bedwetter and has a weak bladder:

"Jay: But I don't wanna get wet. I...I only have one pair of underwear.

Kai: Jay, this is no time to be making jokes. The Bounty can only take so much.

"Jay: You think I'm trying to be funny?" (Season 2, Episode 9, The Last Voyage)

"Harumi: Uh, forgive me, but is that...underwear?

Jay: We're usually more organized. Ahem. But our leader got lost in a time-stream. Uh, they're Cole's.

Cole: They're blue!

Kai: You're lucky they're not yellow." (Season 8, Episode 3, The Oni & The Dragon)

"Oh, that reminds me, Jay, honey, I need to teach you how to bleach your boxer shorts." (Maya, Season 14, Episode 7, Unsinkable)

"Jet Jack: Then tell us, who do these diapers belong to?

Kai: Oh, those are Jay's. Tell 'em, Jay.

Jay: Oh. I have a weak bladder." (Season 9, Episode 2, Iron & Stone)

These are only a few of many, many examples (You can find others throughout the show, such as in Only One Can Remain, The Darkness Remains, Darkness Within, etc), and though it's usually spun as a joke, there's no harm and shame in it! In conclusion

ZANE JULIEN caregiver!

"I was built to protect those who can't protect themselves!" (Zane, Season 3, Episode 8, The Titanium Ninja)

I don't know what else you want me to say guys... he said so himself.,,,,,,. was built to protect those who can't protect themselves...,.....

Zane's entire identity is hinged around adaptability. Though I could go on a WHOLE 'NOTHER ESSAY about Zane's relationship with identity, the point here is that he often adapts to what people need him to be! I mean, he downloaded thousands pieces of detective media onto his hardware in order to try to track down the other ninja after they went missing, if called for I imagine he could very easily slip into the role of caretaker (he WOULD download hundreds of resources on age regression to help the other ninja)!

I don't have a lot of evidence for this one beside source: bro trust me but bro. trust me. The Vibes,,,, theyre there

These are just my personal headcanons based on evidence I've gathered from the show - I am in NO WAY saying these are the only headcanons or that they are the "correct" ones!! In fact, if you have DIFFERENT headcanons for the ninja (esp. ones I didn't provide a lot of detail for), I encourage you to share them in the tags, I'd love to hear other's opinions!!!! ^^

If this gets enough interested, I might make a pt. 2, so stay tuned!!

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Slip on the Common Slipper Limpet

The common slipper limpet, also known as the boat shell or the fornicating slipper snail (Crepidula fornicata) is a species of sea snail native to the North American coast of the Atlantic Ocean. In addition, it has been introduced to the eastern coasts of Europe and parts of the Pacific Northwest and Japan. They can reside in a variety of habitats including bays, estuaries, island shores, and rocky intertidal zones; their maximum depth tolerance is 70m (229 ft).

Fornicating slipper snails are noted for their unique mating methods. Adults typically live stacked on top of each other, with up to 12 to 14 individuals in a group. The largest, and oldest adults are at the bottom of the stack, while the younger, smaller adults are at the top. C. fornicata is a sequential hermaphrodite; new adults are all male, and will change into females as they get older or if they become the oldest in a stack of all males.

Breeding can occur between Februrary and October, although the peak season is in May or June. Unlike other marine mollusks, which are broadcast spawners, the common slipper limpet utilizes internal fertilization. The male closest to the female at the bottom extends his penis under her shell and fertilize up to 11000 eggs. These eggs hatch after about 3-4 weeks, and the planktonic larvae are released into the water. These larvae take 4-5 weeks to develop into juveniles, at which point they settle either on bare rock or on top of an established limpet chain. If it settles in isolation, the young adult immediately changes into a female; if it settles on a chain, it remains a male. Adults can live on these chains for up to 6 years.

Adult boat shells are rather small, ranging in length from 20–50 mm (0.7-1.9 in). The shell is distinctly arched, with a flat underside that gives it a slipper-like appearance. The shell can be white, pink, or yellow with red or brown streaks; older adults are often covered in algal growth.

Conservation status: The common slipper limpet has not been evaluated by the IUCN. Although they are commonly harvested for food, populations are considered stable. Outside its native range, this species is considered invasive and harmful to other limpet snails.

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Photos

Dr Keith Hiscock

Sytske Dijksen

[37sommz]

❁ : she's dreaming . . .

✼. masterlist — taglist — request. ✼. genre: angst & suggestive (18+). ✼. wc: 3.6k.

it’s been weeks since michaela has thought about that night in tuscany. but with the season freshly over, the guilt starts to the submerge her. and all at once, jenson is everywhere and nowhere at all. 

✼. warnings: suggestive but not smutty. language warnings. not proofread (lol). mclaren papaya mentions.

✼. notes: she’s kind of an asshole in this one but you would too if you have jenson!brain. angst again bc i have no self-control. the true honest beginning of the jenson arc is here!! experimenting with the formatting a little bit idk how i feel though.

000.⠀⠀DECEMBER 14, 2020    ›    Monaco.

"Mm, you're so fast," Olivier murmured into her ear, his breath hot and ragged.

Michaela's eyes snapped open, the racing of her heart not entirely from passion but the echo of her fastest lap point from Abu Dhabi yesterday. She pushed him away gently, laughing at the odd choice for dirty talk the Frenchman had chosen. Under the soft moonlight of their Monaco hotel room's balcony, she leaned the full weight of her body against his stronger, half-naked form.

"What's so funny?" Olivier asked, a playful smirk playing on his lips. "It's true, you're so fast."

Michaela couldn't help the smile that tugged at her own lips. "You're so odd," She quipped, tracing her fingers along the taut muscles of his abdomen. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between them.

Olivier leaned in, kissing her neck gently. "Seriously though, baby," He said, his voice dropping into a more serious tone, "I'm so proud of all you've accomplished this past season."

Michaela giggled once more as the bliss of Mediterranean air swirled and enveloped them in a haze that tottered between love and lust. His hands were everywhere and committed to nowhere all at once as she released the smallest of whines in anticipation of his next display of passion.

Her eyes fell upon the McLaren team's official merchandise laid out on the nearby table—she had worn it earlier today on their flight as she had gone straight from their factory in Surrey to her vacation in Monaco. The polo, though a symbol of hope, was also a stark reminder of the conversation she'd been trying to avoid. Olivier had been much too eager to take it off his girlfriend of a year and Michaela pretended not to notice though it stung nonetheless.

"Your new McLaren gear, I see," Olivier said, his hand pausing mid-caress as he followed her gaze to the shirt. "You're really going to wear that papaya orange next season?"

Michaela stiffened, feeling the joy of their intimate moment dissipate like mist in the early morning sun. "What's wrong with papaya orange?" She asked, trying to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

Olivier rolled his eyes. "It's not exactly my color, chère," He mentioned with a laugh, his hand still playing with the strap of her lingerie. "But if you’re contractually required to wear it, I guess I’ll put up with it."

Michaela's smile faltered. "It's not just about the color, Olivier," She said, her voice firm. "It's about my future in the sport. This is a big deal for me."

If Olivier heard her, he gave no indication of any kind. His hands continued to caress his girlfriend's skin as his lips wandered the expanse of her shoulders and up her neck.

Michaela pushed the topic away, the moment feeling too delicate to be sullied by their ongoing argument. Her thoughts grew hazy as his touch grew more insistent. But the nagging feeling remained regardless. Was it really so hard to support her dreams?

Their bodies intertwined, Olivier's hands explored the curves of her body, setting her alight with a passion she knew was genuine. Yet, her mind was elsewhere—replaying moments from her second Formula 1 season—the smell of rubber, the roar of the engines, and the sweet taste of success at her third-place finish in Tuscany.

It was that podium finish, the first for a woman in history, that had brought her to Jenson's arms. The English former champion had congratulated her, and she had been drawn to his easy charm and the understanding in his eyes. The memory of that night grew clearer, the whispers of betrayal echoed through her mind like the rustling of leaves in the Monaco night.

Her cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and guilt as Olivier's hands grew more intimate. The scent of the champagne they had gotten drunk on just moments earlier wafted through the air, a cruel reminder of her infidelity. She closed her eyes tightly, willing the image of Jenson out of her thoughts. But his touch remained etched in her skin, a silent confession that grew louder with each breath she took.

"Are you okay, darling?" Olivier asked, sensing the sudden tension in her body.

Michaela took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts of Jenson to the back of her mind. "Yeah," She lied as she forced a smile. "Just a little tired."

Olivier's eyes searched hers for the truth, but she averted them, focusing instead on the horizon where the last signs of daylight kissed the water. "You're sure?" He whispered, his voice laced with concern.

Michaela nodded, her throat tight with the weight of her secret. She didn't want to ruin the night—not yet. But the conversation had left a sour taste in her mouth, one she couldn't ignore. "Let's just enjoy tonight," She murmured, leaning into him again. She turned to face him head on, willing her hands to travel the length of his well-defined chest to cradle his face in her hands.

Olivier could not help but notice the plea in Michaela’s eyes, his own filled with a hint of doubt. But he kissed her deeply, his tongue seeking hers in a motion as fiery as the passion that had brought them together. The tension between them melted away as they gave themselves over to the moment. Their bodies synced in a rhythm as familiar as the purr of an engine, each movement speaking volumes in a language only they understood.

Michaela's guilt weighed on her like the gravity of indecision, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the here and now. The sound of their breathing grew ragged, their skin slick with sweat, and the world outside their love faded away. For a brief moment, she was free—free from the pressures of her new contract, free from the whispers of doubt, and free from the haunting memory of her indiscretion with Jenson.

As the night grew darker and the air grew thicker with the scent of their love, Olivier whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his voice a gentle comfort that seemed to resonate with the distant waves. But his words were hollow echoes of a support she desperately craved. With each moan of pleasure, she felt the gap between them widen, the truth of her actions with Jenson a heavy burden she wasn't ready to share.

Finally, unable to contain the storm brewing within, she pulled away before either of them could finish, her eyes searching his for something—anything—that could make this right. "Olivier, can we talk?" She asked, her voice small and trembling.

Olivier's eyes stilled upon hers for a moment before nodding, his own smile faded into a look of concern. "Of course, chère." He stood to his full height, totally unprepared for the ensuing conversation.

Michaela took a deep, shaky breath, the cool Monaco night air raising goosebumps on her flushed skin. "Every time I talk about my future with McLaren, you get so... distant," She began, her voice tight with emotion. "I can't help but feel like you're not as excited for me as you say you are."

Olivier's expression shifted into a mix of confusion and defensiveness. "What are you talking about?" He asked, reaching for her hand. "I've supported you every step of the way."

Michaela's gaze dropped to their intertwined fingers. "But you don't get it, do you?" She said softly. "You don't get what this means to me."

Olivier squeezed her hand gently, his brain scrambling for understanding. "I'm trying, Mickey," He said. "I really am."

Michaela felt a lump form in her throat. "You shouldn't have to try," She whispered. "You should want to be there."

Olivier's brow furrowed as he sat beside her on the balcony's chaise lounge, the moon casting shadows across his concerned features. "What are you saying?" He asked, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

Michaela took a deep breath, the scent of the ocean mingling with the faint smell of the city's nightlife. "I'm saying that every time I bring up McLaren, you change the subject or make a joke about it," She replied, her voice growing stronger with each word. "It's like you're not really here for me."

Olivier looked genuinely surprised. "I just don't want to lose you," He admitted, his voice low and sincere. "When you're in the middle of the season, you're so focused on winning that I feel like I'm just... an accessory."

Michaela's eyes widened with shock. "What? No, you're not," She protested, though the sting of his words resonated deep within her.

Olivier looked away, his jaw clenched tight. "Maybe not now," He said, "But what about next season? With McLaren, you'll be even more consumed by the sport. I won't be able to compete with that."

Michaela felt the anger simmering in her chest, her eyes flashing with intensity. "Is that what this is about?" She demanded, her voice rising. "You're jealous of my career?"

Olivier sighed heavily, running his hand through his hair. "No, Mickey," He said, his voice weary. "It's not about being jealous. It's about feeling... irrelevant."

Michaela's anger tapered off, replaced by a sudden rush of sadness. "I'm sorry you feel that way," She said, her voice cracking. "But my career is my life. You knew that going into this."

Olivier's expression grew dark. "But what about us?" He countered. "Is there no room for me in your career?"

Michaela felt the sting of his words. "Of course there is," She said, her voice thick with mounting emotion. "But you have to support me. That's what being in a relationship is about."

Olivier leaned back, his expression unreadable in the moonlight. "And what about when you're too busy with your races and your parties?" He asked, his voice accented with a bitterness she had never heard before. "What happens to us then?"

Michaela felt the weight of his question like a gunshot to the stomach. She knew she couldn't give him the answer he wanted to hear—not without admitting the truth about that night in Tuscany. "You've never wanted to go with me," she said, her voice whispering. "How could I know you wanted to be there if you've never been excited, Olivier?"

The tension grew thick as the silence stretched out between them, the only sound the distant hum of the city below. Olivier took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in the moonlit air. "You're right," He finally said. "I've never felt truly welcome."

Michaela's eyes searched his, desperation pooling in her heart. "That's not true," She protested. "For fuck's sake Olivier, you've spent more than enough time with Giovinazzi, Gasly, and Sainz. How could you be unwelcome?"

Olivier shrugged, his eyes on the sunset. "It's not the same," He murmured. "They're all your colleagues. I'm the boyfriend. The one who's supposed to be there through thick and thin, but every time you win, you're in the arms of some other man. Every time you sign a new deal, you're wearing their colors, not mine."

With a grunt he lifted himself from the chair. Hastily he slid the door to their room open, trekking inside without as much as a glance towards his girlfriend. Sighing to herself, Michaela grabbed hold of the dreaded papaya polo, throwing it on and adjusting her lingerie underneath.

"Where are you going?" She called out as she stepped into the room.

Olivier didn't respond. He was already at the mini-bar, pouring himself a drink, the amber liquid sloshing into the glass with a sound that echoed in the room. His broad shoulders were tense, and his back was to her, a clear indication of his mood.

Michaela felt the anger build within her, but she knew this wasn't the time for accusations or defensiveness. She approached him slowly, her heart hammering in her chest like a drumline. "I didn't mean for it to be like that," She spoke with a tremble in her voice.

Olivier took a swing of his drink, not turning around. "It's just the way it is, isn't it?" He said, his voice cold and distant.

Michaela stepped closer, her heart pounding. She could feel the distance growing between them with every beat. "No, it's not," She insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You can come with me to every race, every event. I want you there."

Olivier downed the rest of his drink, his eyes never leaving the floor. "Do you?" He asked, his voice barely audible. "Or do you just want me there so you don't feel guilty?"

Michaela felt the force of his words like a slap to the face. She stepped back, her hand falling to her side. "What are you talking about?" She asked, her voice shaking.

Olivier turned to face her, his eyes dark and accusatory. "You tell me," He said, his voice low and menacing. "What happened in Tuscany? Why couldn't you answer any of my calls that night?"

Michaela's breath hitched in her throat. The memory of Jenson's arms around her, his whispers in her ear, flooded her mind, inescapable. "Olivier, that's not what this is about," She said, her voice strained.

He took a step closer, his eyes piercing hers. "Isn't it?" He demanded. "Or is it because you found someone else to fill the void when I couldn't be there?"

Michaela felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn't expected the conversation to turn this way—not here, not now. "What are you saying?" She whispered, her voice shaking.

Olivier's gaze was unwavering. "I know you, Mickey," He said, his tone even. "You don't do well with being alone in your big moments. And when I couldn't be there for you after your big day..."

Michaela's eyes grew wide with horror. "You think I cheated?" She managed to choke out.

Olivier's jaw tightened. "Did you?" He asked, his voice a knife's edge of accusation.

Michaela took a deep breath, her eyes searching the room for escape from the accusation. "Olivier, please," She begged, her voice shaking. "It's not like that."

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Isn't it?" He asked, his voice a low growl. "You tell me, Mickey. Did you or did you not spend the night with someone else when you should've been celebrating with me?"

"Celebrating with you?" She suddenly scoffed, remembering the circumstances that led to her fall in the first place. "Was I supposed to spend the night locked away in my hotel room getting drunk with you on Facetime?"

Olivier's eyes searched hers, looking for the lie she knew he wanted to find. "It's not like you to avoid me, especially after a good race," He said, his voice strained.

Michaela felt the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, straightening her spine. "I needed to be with someone who understood," She finally confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Olivier's eyes grew wide with shock, his handsome features contorting with disbelief. "Someone like who?" He spat out, the venom in his voice palpable. "Huh?"

Michaela took a shaky breath, her heart racing as she met his gaze. "Jenson," She whispered, the name leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Olivier's eyes narrowed into slits, his fists clenching at his sides. "Jenson Button," He said through gritted teeth. "Your fucking teenage crush? Must have been a dream come true." The words left his mouth with an element of disgust. He reached for the bottle of alcohol again, pouring himself another glass.

Michaela felt the tears finally spill over her lashes as she watched him. "It was one night," She insisted. "I was just so... happy, and you weren't there."

Olivier took a long pull from his glass, the liquid fire burning down his throat. He slammed it down on the table, the sound echoing through the suite like a bullet. "One night," He repeated, his voice thick with anger. "That's all it takes to replace me, huh?"

Michaela felt the sting of his accusation, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "It wasn't about replacing you," She said, her voice trembling. "It was about feeling seen and supported."

Olivier scoffed, turning away from her to refill his glass. "That's bullshit," He spat. "You're just saying that as an excuse."

Michaela felt the rage build within her, a rage fueled by his accusation and her own guilt. She stepped closer to him, her eyes blazing. "How dare you?" She hissed. "You have no idea what it's like to be me. To be the first woman to stand on that podium. To be the most scrutinized athlete in a sport that's been dominated by men for decades. To be torn apart for the whole world to see every single time I step outside."

Olivier's expression softened, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to something else—regret. "I do know," He said, his voice hoarse. "I see it every day. The way you're treated, the way they look at you." He took a step closer, reaching for her, but she stepped back, the gap between them feeling like an insurmountable distance.

Michaela wiped at her tears, her eyes glaring. "You don't know shit," She said, her voice shaking. "You don't know what it's like to be me. You don't care what it's like to be me."

Olivier's hand fell to his side, his shoulders slumping. "Michaela," He began, but she cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

"Don't," She said, her voice thick with emotion. "Don't you dare try to act like you understand."

Olivier took a step back, his hands rising in surrender. "I'm sorry," He whispered. "I just..."

Michaela didn't let him finish. "You just what?" She challenged, her voice shaking with emotion. "You just don't get it? You just don't care?"

Olivier looked at her, his eyes pleading. "Michaela, baby," He started, but she was already shaking her head.

"Don't call me that," She said, her voice cold and unforgiving. "Not now."

Olivier's hand fell to his side, his eyes peering into hers. "What do you want from me?" He asked, his voice filled with pain. "What can I do to make this right?"

Michaela took a deep, shaky breath. "You can't," She said, her voice cold. "Not unless you truly support me. Not unless you understand that my career is as much a part of me as you are."

Olivier's eyes swelled, the depth of his love for her clear despite the anger and hurt that clouded his features. "I want to," He said, his voice honest. "But I need you to be honest with me. To include me."

Michaela felt the anger drain from her body, leaving only the heavy weight of her secret. "I know," She whispered, her eyes dropping to the floor. "But I was scared."

Olivier took a step closer, his hand reaching out tentatively to cup her cheek. "Scared of what?" He asked, his voice gentle.

Michaela leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against her cool skin. "Scared of losing you," She admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "Scared that you wouldn't understand the pressure, the need for... something more."

Olivier's hand dropped from her cheek, his eyes unable to pull themselves away from her. "More than what?" He asked, his voice tight with unspoken fears.

Michaela took a deep, trembling breath. "More than just being my boyfriend," She replied, her voice a whisper. "Someone who understands the thrills and the agony. All of it."

Olivier's expression grew solemn as he took her in, his thumb gently brushing away the tears that trailed down her cheek. "I want to be that person," He said, his voice earnest. "But you have to let me in."

Michaela looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don't think I can."

Olivier's hand stilled on her cheek, the room growing colder despite the warmth of the night outside. "Why?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Michaela swallowed hard, the pull of emotion weighed down on her chest. "Because it's not just about the racing," She said, her eyes never leaving his. "It's about the parties, the sponsor events, the constant scrutiny. And you... you've never been a part of that."

Olivier's jaw tightened, his thumb brushing away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "So, what are you saying?" He asked, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. "That I'm not good enough for you?"

Michaela's eyes gazed into his, the pain in her heart reflected in her gaze. "No," She said, her voice a whisper. "It's not about that. It's about you being you. And me being me. We can't do that and exist in this world together."

Olivier's hand fell away from her cheek, his eyes dropping to the floor. "What does that mean?" He asked, his voice thick with unfamiliar emotion.

Michaela took a deep, shaky breath. "It means that my world is changing," She said, her voice wavering. "And I don't know if there's room for us in it."

Olivier's eyes tore themselves from the floor and back to her face, the pain in his heart mirroring the ache in hers. "Is that what you want?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Michaela's heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces, the weight of her words heavy on her chest. "It's not what I want," She said, her voice trembling. "But it's what I need."

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[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: May's visit does not go as anticipated.

Word Count: 6,477

Notes: Warnings for depictions of sexual content and jealousy.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 14: The Man Who Doesn't Exist

“Right. Now try this one.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow at him, taking the small shot glass filled with clear, shimmering liquid that he offered her, holding it up to the light, swirling it, and bringing it to her nose.

“You better be careful, or I’ll be drunk before midday,” she commented, taking a sip. Tommy watched her intensely as she swished the helping of freshly made gin in her mouth, testing the taste of it thoroughly before swallowing. “It’s good.”

“You’ve said that about all of them,” he pointed out with fond exasperation. It probably would have done him well to find someone less biased in their opinions about everything he did. But then again, it would probably be equally difficult to find someone not so stone cold terrified of him that they would be willing to be honest in their assessments of the recipe. 

“I don’t know. I’m not much of a gin drinker,” she set down the glass, eyeing the bottles lined up on the table in front of her, each containing a different variation of the recipe he’d been tinkering with.

“Exactly; I want it to appeal to both seasoned and unseasoned gin drinkers. Try ordering them for your favorite to least favorite,” he suggested, nudging one of the bottles her way. She started to pick them up, moving them around the table, sometimes pouring a splash of liquid into a glass to give it another taste before deciding on its ranking. 

“You should have May try some of it while she’s here. I bet she drinks more gin than I do.”

He rested his cheek on his fist as he watched her work. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” 

The light struck her face at an angle, highlighting the shape of her cheekbones. The freckles that always dotted her skin were a little more pronounced, likely as a result of spending more time outside in the sun since Christmas. Her lips formed an adorable, ever so slightly downturned pout when she concentrated, comparing the gin from two separate bottles before choosing their positions in the ranking.   

She had been sad for a while after Aberama gave her the news about her mother. Understandably so, of course, but it still hurt him to see her so despondent. Like the spark that lived inside of her had dulled, somewhat.

But she was coming back to herself, gradually. A healthy hue of color in her cheeks, the bright warmth in her eyes steadily returning. 

Tommy shifted a little closer to her, swallowing roughly when she pushed a lock of deep red hair back out of her face. He was close enough to smell the distinct scent of her rose perfume, the temptation building within him to pick her up, swipe all the bottles of gin off of the table to crash upon the floor, and make love to her on that table until she screamed his name. 

“Done!” she announced, rousing him from his lascivious daydream. She looked over her shoulder at him, and the spark of conspiratorial cheekiness in her eyes nearly had his self control snapping completely. “Tommy?”

“Mm?”

She looked to be trying very hard to suppress a smile, head jerking towards the bottles. He cleared his throat, rising from his seat and moving to stand behind her, bending down to wrap his arms around her shoulders, hooking his chin over her shoulder. 

“Right; let’s see what we’ve got, eh?” he assessed her decisions carefully. She’d rated the one flavored with cinnamon the highest–predictably so, Lucy did love her cinnamon. “Didn’t like the one with the coriander, eh?” he asked, leaning forward to swipe up the bottle she’s put at the bottom of her ranking. 

“It was more that it’s too weak on the alcohol, rather than the coriander that was the problem,” she tapped the bottle that was second to last. “But this one was too strong. You’ll have people staggering around after one glass if you sell them this stuff.”

He reached into his pocket, fishing out a notebook already half filled with various gin recipes he’d been trying out, jotting down the notes she was giving him. 

“Honestly, on all of them I could use a little more sweetness. I like the cinnamon flavor, but I don’t know how popular that will be with the general public. You’ll have to ask a couple more people,” her head craned around to look at him from over her shoulder. “It’s getting there.”

He smiled shyly. “You think so?”

“Mhm.”

He squeezed his arms around her, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. She tasted sweetly of gin, a soft, wanting groan leaving his mouth at the first meeting stroke of their tongues. Lucy giggled softly against his mouth, giving him another peck before leaning back, smiling again when he bumped her nose affectionately with his. 

“We better get going if we want to be there when May arrives at the yard.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, but made no movement, instead dropping his head into her neck, mouth trailing kisses up to her jaw. She laughed, a sound more beautiful than a harp or the chirp of birds, squirming halfheartedly in his arms.

“Tommy!”

“Alright, alright,” he huffed in teasing grumpiness, forcing himself to draw away from her. She touched his cheek, her expression one of deep affection.

“There'll be time for more of that later,” she promised, kissing him quickly once more before standing. He reached for her hand eagerly, enveloping her seemingly eternally chilled fingers with his, and let her pull him with a strong tug from the room.  

∗ ∗ ∗ 

May’s perfume smelled sweet, the fur that rested around her collar soft against Lucy’s cheek when she pulled her in for a hug. In the mist whirling around the canals, she had looked nearly ethereal as the boat glided up to the dock. 

“Hi, May. It’s good to see you.”

“Hello, Lucy. You’re looking well.”

She smiled bashfully, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Tommy smiled at her from over May’s head, and began ushering them to the office. They chatted as they walked, inquiring about what May had been up to (not much, outside of her horse training duties) and how things were going with the horse (very well). 

Lucy glanced over her shoulder, brows pinching when they passed by Lizzie’s desk on their way to the doors to Tommy’s office. She could hear her muttering angrily under her breath, shooting glares in their direction, but couldn’t make out entirely what she was saying. 

She frowned, but decided not to say anything on the matter. At least not now.

She hadn’t expected Lizzie’s black mood to last so long. Especially since things had been going so well between them beforehand.  

Shaking her head, she closed the doors behind the three of them, moving to plop down in the chair next to May, taking an offered cigarette from Tommy while he and May talked about the horse. The toe of her shoe bumped against Tommy’s shin, rubbing up and down idly while she rested her head on her fist, looking over at May appreciatively as she set down the horse’s registration papers for Tommy to sign. He fixed her with an intense gaze, and Lucy leaned forward a little in eagerness as he questioned coyly just why on earth May would come all the way here in person for nothing but a signature. 

May’s eyes darted between them, a little color rising in her cheeks. Lucy couldn’t help the cheeky smile she sent her way, shifting in her seat with barely contained excitement. 

Outside of Grace, May had always been her favorite of the girls she and Tommy had included in their trysts in the past, and she had remained a close friend even after they’d broken things off.

May raised her eyes back to Tommy, and there was something in her face and voice that Lucy couldn’t entirely place; something that smothered her excitement a bit.

“Nothing seems to change you,” May said, in reference to both Grace and John’s death. The words alone had Lucy’s brow furrowing, but before she could fully ponder them, the door flung open and Lizzie waltzed in. Tommy started, and Lucy’s head snapped around sharply at the sudden intrusion.  

Fucking hell; had she fallen and hit her head and forgotten how to knock?

Her shock at the intrusion, however, had nothing on her surprise when Lizzie openly sneered at May, tossing the file she was carrying onto Tommy’s desk, then pulled herself up to her full, impressive height, arms leaning against the back of the large chair behind the desk. She ignored Tommy’s attempts to dismiss her, smirking at May smugly.

“But, you know sometimes, he sees something glamorous and expensive, he just can’t resist it,” Lizzie grinned, as if she’d made some big, clever point. “He’s so weak.”

Lucy’s jaw just about hit the floor. She had been on the receiving end of several of Lizzie’s jealousy-induced fits over the years, but this one had to take the fucking cake. May hadn’t even done anything. And in all that time, she didn’t think she’d ever seen Lizzie take such a harsh swipe at Tommy before. Normally it was just Lucy she went after, never him. 

The blatant smugness and disrespect had her so flabbergasted that she couldn’t even speak. 

Tommy seemed equally as stunned, meeting her gaze with widened eyes. She wasn’t entirely sure if the repeating thought of what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck was in her own head, or something that she was picking up through the silent way that they sometimes communicated through glances. 

May responded before either of them could, and in quite graceful fashion too, announcing her desire to make a donation to the charity set up in Grace’s name. Lizzie’s smug smile faded steadily as May filled out the check, and Lucy caught herself feeling a spike of satisfaction at seeing her knocked so cleanly off of the high horse she’d decided to perch herself upon.

She immediately scolded herself internally for the petty feeling.

Lizzie’s jaw was clenching, entire form practically vibrating with rage. For a moment, Lucy thought that she might explode without another glorious display.

“That’ll be all, Lizzie, thank you,” Tommy said firmly, hardly even looking at her. Her jaw twitched once, and then she went stalking from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Lucy stared at the place where Lizzie had been standing, thumb dancing along the length of one of her rings, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened. 

Lizzie had always been one for more the cold shoulder when she was jealous or upset. Subtle jabs and maybe the occasional snide, hurtful comment. But never anything quite like that.

It was obvious that taking Lizzie to the canal had been a mistake. She’d gotten her hopes up, though Lucy couldn’t entirely understand why. Perhaps if Tommy had taken her there on his own, just the two of them, it would make more sense why the sudden mood change, but Lucy had been there too. It wasn’t like her presence had been even subtle. So why? Why had it clearly affected Lizzie so deeply?

Maybe it had just been a reminder of what Lizzie wanted so badly, but could never have.  

She had always known deep down that Lizzie used their rendezvous to fulfill her own fantasies: ones in which Lucy was positive she did not exist, and it was just Lizzie and Tommy, happy and in love.

All this time, Lizzie’s feelings for Tommy had perhaps not been fading, but simply sleeping. And they’d gone and woken them back up again. 

They could never do something like that with her again, Lucy decided resolutely. It wasn’t fair, and it only brought them trouble. 

“Lucy?”

She roused, realizing that she had just been staring intensely at the wall behind the desk, and looked over to find that Tommy had gone over to the shelf of liquor, his hand resting on the decanter of whiskey.

“Sorry?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Drink?” 

“Yes, please,” she said desperately. He shot her a sympathetic look, pouring a glass and handing it to her before returning to fix another for himself. She took a gulp of the amber liquid gratefully while Tommy hastily corrected course, asking May if she had packed an overnight back, and explaining that the train drivers had called a wildcat strike earlier in the day.

Lucy raised an eyebrow at the lie, but didn’t comment. 

May didn’t seem perturbed, simply asking where she was to stay. Tommy offered that they could meet her at four. 

“Meet and do what?” May asked. Lucy looked up at her through lowered lashes, one corner of her lips pulling upwards.

Surely you must know, my dear.

Tommy was fighting back his own coy smile, but rather than stating the obvious, merely offered for her to try the gin he’d been distilling.

A…not a hobby, precisely, but an activity that he had grown more and more obsessive over recently. Probably just a symptom of him going minorly mad over being cooped up in Small Heath for so long. 

It was honestly kind of cute, how serious he got about the whole thing, tinkering with the recipe that his father had left him and asking her to consume far more amounts of gin than she’d normally prefer–she would always be more of a whiskey girl–to get her opinion. 

Again, there was that moment of trepidation, when May did not immediately seem amiable to the suite at the Midland that Tommy had booked for her–them, technically, if May even wanted them there–but it faded when she agreed to a tasting of the gin. Lucy wetted her lips, cigarette turning over and over in her fingers, trying to puzzle out the mixed signals May was giving out. 

They agreed to meet at four, Tommy pulling on his coat and ducking out the door. Lucy could see his figure through the glass, moving over to Lizzie’s desk, the gestures of his hands making it blatant that he was scolding her.  

“I’m sorry about Lizzie,” she apologized to May, grabbing her coat and beginning to pull it on. 

“Is she often like that?” May asked curiously, rising elegantly from her own seat.

“She’s…” Lucy sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t everything, when it comes to Tommy?” 

Lucy finished pulling her coat up over her shoulders, adjusting the collar. “Not always,” she murmured quietly. Her relationship with him had never been all that complicated, after all. They loved each other. They were together. All the rest was just details. “I have to go with him,” she said apologetically. “You’re welcome to stay here in the office, if you’d like. Or I’m sure Charlie and Curly would be happy to host you at the yard.”

“I worry that if I stay here Lizzie might try to maim me.”

Lucy chuckled. “No, that’s more Polly’s thing. Lizzie will just mutter nasty things behind your back when she doesn’t think you’re listening.”

May shook her head, shooting her a funny look. “I don’t know how you put up with it.”

Lucy shrugged. “You and me both. I’ll see you at four?”

“Yes.”

She gave her one last smile. “Alright.”

Tommy was just stepping away from Lizzie’s desk, head turning when he heard the door opening, tensed shoulders relaxing at the sight of her. 

“Ready?”

She shot a curious glance at Lizzie, who was sitting at her desk and visibly sulking, lips pursed. “Yeah.”

He took her hand, and began to pull her to the doors, when she heard, muttered snidely under Lizzie’s breath:

“Fucking slut. Don’t know what he fucking sees in you.”

Tommy’s hand squeezed hard in hers in reaction to the words he had also heard, body half turning, mouth opening to shout at her, but Lucy grasped him tightly, pushing him lightly towards the door.

“Don’t,” she hissed, half begged, under her breath. He was so puzzled at the reaction that she managed to push him out the doors and away from Lizzie, though not before they also heard her bellowing on about May again. She would have stopped to verbally cuff her for that, had she not been confident that May could more than handle herself. At the moment, she needed to get Tommy out of there before an actual fight broke out.

“Let it go,” she told him firmly, half pulling him along to the corner before stopping. Tommy gave her a baffled look. 

“But she–”

“She’s just had her heart broken, Tommy. Give her a break. I’m fine,” not entirely true, the words still stung, no matter how often she had to hear them, but she was a big girl. She could handle a few insults flung her way. Given her role in Lizzie’s anguish, she probably deserved it, on some level.      

His face furrowed with guilt, though a spark of anger still flickered in his eyes. “Upset or not, that’s no reason to speak to you or May the way that she did.”

Lucy made a noise of agreement, gaze darting away, passing over the street without really seeing it, hands twisting and fumbling with each other. 

“Hey,” he touched her chin, raising her gaze back up to his. “Don’t let her get to you.”

“I just thought that we were passed all of this…”

“I know,” his eyes were sad. “I know; me too,” with a sigh, he looked away to the rising smoke of the factories. “Not much we can do about it now, other than distance ourselves until the storm passes.”

“I can never tell if she really means it or not. The things that she says.”

Tommy opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, looking down, hand smoothing along her arm. “I’m sorry.”

She just shrugged. “Not your fault.”

“It kind of is.”

“You don’t control what Lizzie says or does.”

“I could go back in there and yell at her some more if it would make you feel better.” 

She bit back a small, terrible smile at the suggestion. “I appreciate the offer, love, but I’m pretty sure that would only make things worse.”

“I don’t understand her,” he shook his head. “You’re wonderful. All you’ve ever done is try to be nice to her…”

“I stole you from her.”

“What?” he looked entirely taken aback. Lucy shrugged again.

“She was here first, technically. Then I came along and snatched up you and all of your love for myself.”

“That’s not what happened. She and I never even were anything. She was just a whore I saw on a semi-regular basis.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure that’s how she sees it.”

He touched her face, expression puzzled and concerned. “You’re not stealing her share of love from me.”

She leaned her face a little into the soothing warmth of his strong palm, closing her eyes. “I know,” she mumbled softly, though she was not entirely sure that she really did. Because the guilt still gnawed at her; the wondering that, maybe, if it weren’t for her, Tommy and Lizzie might have actually had a chance.  

When she opened her eyes again, he was looking at her with an appraising, narrowed expression.

“You’re really sure you don’t want me to go scold her some more?”

A small, sharp exhale of air that might’ve been the beginning of a laugh passed through her nose. “I’m sure, love,” she turned her head, kissing his palm and taking it in hers, stretching up onto her toes to peck his cheek. “But I appreciate the protectiveness.”

He gave her a gentle, adoring look, lips brushing the crown of her head. 

“We should get going, or we’ll be late to the boxing ring.”

“Mm. Yeah,” he squeezed her hand still holding onto her firmly, their shoes clicking in tandem together against the cobblestones as they started to walk. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

The boxing ring smelled of sweat and rubber. The slap of boxing gloves hitting both flesh and the punching bags filled the room, as did the grunts of exertion and concentration of the men practicing. Bonnie Gold already had his gloves on and was in the ring, practically bouncing on his toe while he waited for his first opponent. Aberama was standing on the sidelines, hat cocked on his head, watching his son. He gave Tommy and Lucy a respectful nod of greeting when they approached, and while Tommy went to speak with King Maine, the boxing trainer, she moved to stand beside Aberama, arms crossed over her chest.

“Good afternoon,” he said, after a moment, eye remaining fixed on Bonnie with Maine directed another boy to get into the ring with him.

“Afternoon,” Lucy said back, shifting from foot to foot.

“You look to be doing well,” he finally turned his gaze onto her. Lucy rolled her head to a noncommittal angle, shrugging.

“Not much use that can be done just sitting around and crying,” she looked back at Tommy still talking with Maine. “It’s better that I keep busy.”

“I can understand that.”

“Thank you again for telling me. Mum and I…we fell out of contact around 1920 when she went back to the caravans.” She was grateful that he did not ask her why.

“She was very proud of you, you know.”

Brows furrowing, she looked at him sharply, searching for any trace of a lie in his face and finding none. 

“I spoke to her, once or twice when we would run into her and Miri at the fairs. She always had such a glow about her, when she told us how she had a daughter in the city, in a high position in a company there.”

Lucy looked down and away quickly, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the sudden glassiness in her eyes.

“She had all these clippings from the papers, about Shelby Company Ltd., pictures of you at various company events. Miri said she would sometimes spend hours just pouring over them.”

Lucy swallowed hard, clearing her throat roughly. “I wish that she had stayed here. I wish that I could have looked after her. Maybe then…”

Aberama suddenly touched her shoulder. “There’s no point spending valuable time and energy mulling over the things we could have or should have done. It brings nothing but pain. Your mother loved you. Focus on remembering that.” He gave her a stern, yet paternal look, waiting until she nodded before lowering his hand from where he’d rested it lightly on her shoulder. Lucy looked at him for a long moment. 

“You’re not entirely what I expected,” she admitted. Aberama chuckled.

“And what were you expecting?”

She shrugged. “After everything Johnny Dogs told us? Someone more…”

“Savage?”

“I was going to say feral.”

He cracked a sly smile. “I’ve found that playing up the reputation at times can be…beneficial,” those clever, fox-like eyes darted back to hers. “Something tells me that you’ve discovered the same.”

Lucy bit back a smirk. “Yes, something like that.”

“What you did with Changretta’s cousin was impressive.”

“Thank you. I’d prefer to avoid advertising it around for just a little while yet, though.”

“Why?”

She smiled sweetly. “I want to see the look on Luca Changretta’s face when he realized that I’m not just a tiny little woman who only got where she is by fucking the boss.” 

Aberama’s lips quirked in quiet approval, expression growing serious when Tommy and Maine approached them to watch Bonnie fight.

After it was over, she followed Tommy out of the gym, his hand dipping into his pocket to procure his watch, glancing at the face before tucking it away again. 

“I need to go by the factory and speak with Devlin. But you can head back to the yard and spend some more time with May, if you’d like.” 

“You’re sure?” She tried not to show just how excited the idea made her. Tommy nodded. 

“I can deal with Devlin. You go on. You can show her the gin distillery, if you’d like. I’ll meet you at four.”

With a grin, she stretched up onto her toes to peck his cheek. “Thank you.”

He gave her a small smile. “Try not to have too much fun without me.”

“No promises, Shelby.”

The skin around his eyes crinkled, even as he attempted to suppress the fond smile pulling at his lips. His hand curled around her hip, pulling her just a little more closer so as to press a quick kiss to her lips. 

“See you soon,” he promised.

She gave him a small smile, walked a few paces backward before turning around and heading in the direction of the yard. She could feel the protective presence of his gaze on her until she went around a corner and out of his line of sight. 

The walk to the yard was quiet and peaceful. While the smog and smoke still lingered in the air, the sun was actually out for once, and she enjoyed the gentle warmth that the beams languished upon her.

“Charlie,” she greeted him where he was working by the entrance when she came in. “Where’s May?”

“The stables.”

“Right. Thanks.” She weaved her way towards the aforementioned building, stepping through the open barn doors, smiling to herself at the sound of May’s posh accent speaking lowly while she stroked careful fingers through Sin’s reddish mane. She started at the crunch of hay under Lucy’s boots, head turning in her direction. 

“I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you until four.”

“First meeting wrapped up quick. Tommy’s got another one he needs to go to, but he doesn’t need me for it.” Coming up beside May, she gave Sin a little pat to her flank. “Charlie and Curly been treating you alright?”

“Yes,” but there was a small hesitation before she spoke, and Lucy shot a curious look her way, again feeling that prickle in the back of her mind that something was not entirely right. “I was going to take a walk by the canal, but then Charlie told me I’d need to take a revolver with me, so I figured perhaps it would be best to just stay here.”

“I can take you, if you’d like.”

Again, May hesitated, doe-brown eyes looking Lucy over as if she were assessing her. “That’s alright. I’d rather try Tommy’s gin, I think.”

“Okay.”

She led the way through the yard, into another set of stables where Curly was busy at work. 

“Curly, dear, could you get us a bottle of Tommy’s gin?” Lucy asked. He nodded, bustling away hastily. While they waited, Lucy grabbed a blanket to spread out over a haystack for May to sit.   

“Is everything alright?” Lucy asked after a few moments, the silence feeling long and all encompassing. 

“Yes, of course.”

“You’re sure? Charlie and Curly didn’t say anything, did they?”

“They said several things. But it’s alright. Really,” she turned her face away from Lucy to look at the entrance to the bar expectantly. “How are things going with the Italians? Honestly, I mean.”

With a sigh, she shrugged, and it was her turn to avert her gaze down to her shoes. “Could be worse. But could be a lot damn better, too.” Looking up, she met May’s worried eyes, her brow furrowed in a way that only served to accentuate the unique shape of her face. “We’ll be fine.”  

But the frown did not leave May’s features. “What about you? Are you doing alright?”

Lucy shrugged. “It took a little adjusting at first with everyone being scattered and then coming back together after so long, but I’ve managed.”

“Polly hasn’t been causing you any trouble?”

“Actually, no. Not really. She’s been…nicer maybe isn’t exactly the word, but it’s been easier to be around her.” She gave May a small, humorless smile. “I doubt that it’ll last, but I’m going to enjoy it while I can.”

“And what about you and Tommy?”

Lucy cocked her head, not understanding. “What about us?”

“Is everything alright between you two?”

Now she was truly puzzled. “Yes, of course. Why?”

“So much tragedy, and in such a short span of time…I’ve seen it have nasty effects on couples before.”

“Most everything else has been hard, at one point or the other, but not us,” she again shot May a curious look. “We help each other, we…it’s always been easy. Being with him.”

May shook her head. “That’s such a strange thing to hear, having known him for a few years, now.”

Lucy didn’t entirely know what to say to that. She was aware that the way that Tommy treated her was different from how he was with almost everyone else. It was not something she could entirely explain. Hell, she doubted that even Tommy would struggle to entirely articulate why that was. It probably had at least something to do with all of the trauma that they shared. But it wasn’t just that.  

“You’ve really never wanted him to change?” May asked, the question completely catching Lucy off guard. “Not even a little?”

For a moment she could only stare at May in bafflement. She felt like she was teetering on the edge of understanding something, but what that was, she couldn’t entirely say. May met her gaze with those wide, dark eyes, waiting patiently for her answer.  

“No,” she said softly, truthfully. “Not ever. I like him just the way he is.” 

  A flicker of disappointment, quick as a sudden, sharp spark, ignited in May’s eyes. It was gone just as quickly, only appearing for such a brief moment that Lucy was left half wondering if it had actually been there at all. May smiled at her, sadness entangled with the expression.

“I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me.”

Lucy nodded, still confused, still trying to grasp onto what it was that was causing May to behave so strangely. But before she could get a good grip on it, Curly came back in with a bottle and two glasses clutched in his hands. 

“Thank you, Curly,” Lucy took them from him and shooed him away, pouring a glass first for May and then for herself. 

As they drank, they talked about lighter things: May’s horses. The particularly talented gardener she had just recently employed at the house. The beautiful tea set Lucy had found during her and Tommy’s most recent trip into London. 

But all the while, even as they laughed together in the stables, sitting nearly shoulder to shoulder, Lucy could not shake the feeling that May was steadily drifting farther and farther away. 

Fumbling with her pocket watch, she checked the time, finishing off her glass and setting it aside. 

“He won’t be long. What do you think?”

“It’s alright. A little too sweet for my taste, I’d say.”

Lucy nodded. “He’s hoping that it’ll be big in America, so he’s been trying to tailor it more to their tastes.”

“Has he been working on this long?”

“Not as long as you’d think. I’ve probably taste-tested at least a bucket’s worth of it, now.”

May let out a quiet chuckle, taking another sip from her glass. They continued to chat while they waited for Tommy, ultimately winding up laying side by side on the hay, May’s voice a soft, low hum as she started to sing. Lucy stared up at the ceiling, her empty glass seated beside her, throat constricting with memories of lingering near the doors of the Garrison, watching Grace stand up on a chair in the back, her rich voice echoing throughout the pub as she sang song after song, some her own choosing, others requests from the crowd. 

Her eyes darted to the dark corners of the stables, searching with hope for the golden-haired ghost, but finding nothing but black shadows. 

May’s singing cut off abruptly at the sound of Tommy’s voice announcing his presence, both of them sitting up to see him approaching them with quick steps from the door. Lucy hopped down from the hay while May offered her opinion to him on the gin, Tommy dipping his head to give Lucy a quick kiss to say hello, big hand taking hold of hers, beginning to lead the way towards the stairs that led down to the distillery.

It was cool down the stairs. Lucy jumped up to sit on the table where Tommy deposited a crate of bottles, legs swinging in the air. He rifled through the bottles, selecting one and uncorking it to pour another glass for May to try. 

Lucy’s legs unconsciously stopped swinging as she watched him begin to lay on his famous charm, standing close to May, glass filled with clear liquid offered to her, voice lowered, eyes looking steadily into hers. May continued to keep her eyes on him, even as she lifted the glass from his fingers and took a sip.

“You’re unlike any man I’ve ever met,” she told him, and Lucy felt the beginning pulsings of want stirring within her, leaning forward where she was seated on the table.   

At May’s determination that the gin was still too sweet, Tommy leaned in, and kissed her.

It was a soft, sensual kiss. The kind that Lucy was intimately familiar with receiving from him. Lips moving slowly against each other, his touch gentle but firm. 

May responded with a hand on his chest, leaning into his body. Quiet and graceful as a cat, Lucy slid from her spot on the table, padding over to them and pressing her front to May’s back, running her nose through her soft, sweet-smelling hair to get at the nape of her neck, ghosting a kiss across it while her hands landed gingerly on her shoulders. She could feel Tommy shifting the positioning of his arms, so that he was more thoroughly embracing her. 

And then she felt May go abruptly stiff and freeze. Tommy felt it too, pulling back a fraction to look at her. 

“You said you booked a room?” she asked softly, after a moment. Tommy’s lips quirked up a fraction. 

“No, I booked a suite.”

“Thank you,” there was something dull in May’s voice that had Lucy pulling slightly away from her, head angling to try to get a look at her face. May drew in a deep breath. “If you book a taxi, I’ll go.”

Lucy started, brow creasing and eyes shifting from May, to Tommy, then back again. Tommy’s face drew away from her, expression suddenly hardening, going cold. The warmth and tenderness he’d been exuding a moment ago almost entirely shut off in the face of the abrupt rejection. As May continued to speak, Lucy drew her hands from her, taking a step back. 

“If only you could…”

“If only I could what?” Tommy asked, with a voice like sharp razors, eyes searching May’s before he took a large step back, away from her. “‘If only you could change.’ Go on, say it. If only you could change the bad.” 

Suddenly, all of May’s strange behavior over the day started to make sense. Particularly that curious question she had broached about whether or not Lucy ever wished Tommy could change.

He continued to verbally snarl for a moment, a wounded animal, hurt and angry and lashing out at the person who’d stung it. Because Lucy knew that it kept him awake at night, how badly he wanted to be better.

“You all deserve better than me,” he sometimes whispered, head resting on her chest, against her breasts on the particularly bad nights when she held him and stroked his hair. She always shook her head, kissing him between the brows, reminding him as best she knew how that she loved him exactly as he was.

May had struck a raw nerve she was not even aware of.

“You fucking people,” he fumed, storming away, back to them. Lucy watched him mournfully. She did not think that May intended to hurt either of them. But still, it ached. 

At least she could recognize that perhaps they could not offer what she truly wanted. At least she had the sense to understand that and step away.

If only more women were like her: with that sense and acknowledgement that she could not change nor heal a man through the power of love alone. 

Lizzie had never learned. Linda had never learned with Arthur. Hell, Lucy had sometimes wondered, at some level, at least, if even Grace had not understood that reality completely. 

“You bite like your horse,” May said after a long moment of silence, and there was both regret and apology in her voice, but not for how she felt. No, the apology was for the unintentional sting that her rejection had inflicted. Tommy’s eyes moved from hers to Lucy’s.

Fuck. 

Yes, she agreed silently, sadly. Now over his little outburst, Tommy beckoned May to follow, reaching for Lucy’s hand before beginning to move. She squeezed his fingers, his grip tightening enough that her rings bit into her flesh a little. 

None of them said much of anything at all on the walk through the canals, to a boat that could take May to the train station. It was a long enough of a walk for the disappointment to really settle in Lucy’s stomach, leaving her feeling gloomy. 

“Here’s your carriage,” Tommy said, gesturing to the boat, informing May of the train that she could catch. She gave him a look of exasperated fondness when he admitted to lying about the strikes. Lucy couldn’t help but smile a little herself at her gangster’s devilish antics.

May touched his cheek gently for a moment, looking between them, suddenly earnest.

“We’ll keep in touch?”

They both nodded, and that seemed to relax her a little. Lucy felt a wave of relief wash over her. At least May did not want them entirely ejected from her life. 

“I’ll call with updates about the horse. And please, feel welcome to stop by the house or the stables anytime you’d like.” 

At their agreement, she moved away, but not before giving Lucy a firm hug in farewell.

“I mean it, anytime you need to get away from this one, just come on by.”

“Oi!” Tommy sputtered in indignation, and they both giggled while he rolled his eyes, looking to the sky as if asking what he’d done to deserve such teasing. He helped May up and into the boat, and Lucy watched with a steady ache in her chest as she disappeared below deck, Curly climbing aboard after her. 

Tommy settled a hand on her shoulder, and very gently, began to guide her from the canal. As they walked, he wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her tightly into his side. 

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[lilycrylique]

Jour 14 : Errer

Day 14 : Roam

Dessin traditionnel tracé au crayon à papier puis encré avec les stylos Pigma Micron, de la taille 005 (0,25 mm) à la taille 8 (0,50 mm).

Le lieutenant Hank Anderson (Détroit : Become Human) a quelques problèmes personnels liés à l'alcoolisme et au deuil de son fils, Cole. Dans un moment de creux durant l'enquête, Connor le retrouve en train de boire dans un parc pour enfants, face à l'horizon d'un Detroit nocturne sous les premières neiges de saison.

La présence de l'androïde dans sa vie redonne à Hank de l'espoir en l'humanité et quelque chose en quoi se raccrocher.

---

Traditional drawing traced with pencil then inked with Pigma Micron pens, from size 005 (0.25 mm) to size 8 (0.50 mm).

Lieutenant Hank Anderson (Detroit: Become Human) has some personal problems related to alcoholism and the loss of his son, Cole. In a low moment during the investigation, Connor finds him drinking in a children's park, facing the horizon of a nighttime Detroit under the first snow of the season.

The android's presence in his life gives Hank hope in humanity and something to hold on to.

[princesscatherinemiddleton]

The Royal Fandom Summer 2024 Photo Challenge! Like I said, they weren't all Kate-related! I am nothing if not inclusive. It's summer, it's silly season, there's nothing to do, so why not make a bunch of posts about royal families in the sun. I planned this to be done in August but feel free to do it over any 31 days in the summer. Also, apologies for the v e r y tangentially related topics, I ran out of summer things. The Rules for the challenge are below.

1. Favourite summer-themed photo(s) of the Belgian Royal Family 2. Favourite royal summer residence 3. Favourite summer-themed photo(s) of the British Royal Family 4. Favourite photo(s) of royals with flowers 5. Favourite summer-themed photo(s) of the Danish Royal Family 6. Favourite photo(s) from Victoriadagen 7. Favourite summer-themed photo(s) of the Dutch Royal Family 8. Favourite photo(s) of royals at the Olympics 9. Favourite summer-themed photo(s) of the Grand Ducal Family of Luxembourg 10. Favourite photo(s) of royals swimming 11. Favourite summer-themed photo(s) of the Monegasque Royal Family 12. Favourite royal summer outfit(s) 13. Favourite summer-themed photo(s) of the Norwegian Royal Family 14. Favourite photo(s) of royals on planes 15. Favourite summer-themed photo(s) of the Spanish Royal Family 16. Favourite photo(s) of royals in sunglasses 17. Favourite summer-themed photo(s) of the Swedish Royal Family 18. Favourite photo(s) of a royal pet in the sun! 19. Favourite photo(s) of royals at the Paralympics 20. Favourite photo(s) of royals wearing yellow 21. Favourite photo(s) of royal doing water sports 22. Favourite photo(s) at Belgian National Day 23. Best royal summer hairstyle(s) 24. Favourite photo(s) of royals at the beach 25. Favourite photo(s) of a summer royal wedding (Albert & Charlene, Harald & Sonja, Haakon & MM, any of the Swedes) 26. Favourite photo(s) of royals on holiday 27. Favourite photo(s) taken at Balmoral 28. Favourite photo(s) of royals on boats 29. Favourite photo(s) taken at Solliden Palace 30. Favourite photo(s) of royals with ice creams 31. Favourite photo(s) from August 2024

Rules:

x Tag your posts with “Royal Summer 2024 Challenge”. x It says photo challenge but if you want to use gifs or poetry or however you want to represent them, you can! x Edits can include different royals from different families! x If you have any questions, feel free to contact me here.

[ha-bloody-ha]

It's almost official: the Murdoch Quilt, made from costume scraps from seasons 12-14 of Murdoch Mysteries (with a few pieces from earlier years), is going up for auction very soon! Bidding will close on not long after October 2, the date of the S17 premiere. I even managed to get a high-end art auction house involved. I had a Zoom call with them and the Shaftesbury Films publicity people this afternoon to finalize plans. (Yes I am freaking out about this.)

Christina Jennings, Founder, CEO, and President of Shaftesbury Films gave the quilt and the Urban Alliance on Race Relations, beneficiary of the auction proceeds, a shoutout in her speech to the crowd at the Shaftesbury TIFF party last Monday. (She suggested that someone's grandmother might like it. Me, I want it on permanent display somewhere. It's a work of women's art that was never intended to disappear into someone's linen closet. But that was, uh, not the ideal venue for pushing that argument. Ahem.)

Some of the "best" questions people have asked about the quilt:

How do we know it's authentic? Are you trying to scam people?

Seriously? You honestly think someone would come up with a scam involving the time and coordinated effort of 20 people in three countries to produce something that has fabrics that look EXACTLY like what's in the costumes on TV, in order to raise money for a 48-year-old anti-racism charity? That's... rather a grim way to perceive the world.

2. Why don't you sell the pattern so other quilters can make it too?

There is no pattern. 18 people designed and made their own unique blocks from the fabrics they had available. If you want to stare at pictures of it to reverse-engineer the 30 different blocks so you can make them from other fabrics that didn't come from the MM costume room, knock yourself out.

3. You're making another one, right?

No. This one took hundreds of dollars (gas, postage, longarm quilting) and at least 150 hours of work. "One of a kind" means "one of a kind."

(I have so many thoughts about how textile art is [or isn't] valued, and whom it's perceived to be for, even by people who really should know better. I'm hopeful that this project and the auction will spark some thoughts and conversations about this. Best case, the quilt itself will net five figures, maybe from one of the Bus People who've been on the fancy tours and who Get It about what this kind of fibre art is worth. I can dream, can't I?)

Anyway. Auction closes in early November! October 2! More details coming soon! aaaah!

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

14. Gentle prompt. “Your hands are freezing.”

This prompt painted a very specific picture in my mind that I just don't think I've quite portrayed here... but I just can't quite figure out what about this drabble just isn't 'right'.

Season 5.

She let herself in with her key. He had gifted it to her not long after they started dating but, given that they were always together, she'd never had reason to use it.

But she had been determined to finish up her paperwork before heading home for the night and - seeing as he could barely keep his eyes open while sitting in his chair by her desk - she had insisted he go home and try to get some sleep. It had been a long few days, and she promised that she wouldn't be too far behind him.

Two hours later she was tiptoeing through the darkness of his home, eager to be able to curl up beside him and drift off to sleep in the warmth of his arms.

She pulled his dresser drawer open slowly - careful not to make too much noise - and pulled a sweater from the very back of the drawer. She couldn't see which one she'd pulled out but she knew he wouldn't mind; even if he hadn't made such an effort in the past to tell her how much he loved the sight of her in his clothes, she could always tell by the way he couldn't help but stare, the way his eyes darkened as he got lost in whatever thoughts occupied his mind.

She dropped her clothes in a pile beside the dresser to deal with in the morning and slipped the sweater over her head.

"Don't cover up," Castle mumbled, still half asleep. "Was enjoying the show."

"It's almost pitch-black in here," Beckett whispered as she slowly made her way toward the bed. "How can you enjoy what you can barely even see?"

Castle pulled the sheets back for her and she crawled into bed with him.

"I think you underestimate the allure of a sexy silhouette undressing," he explained.

In the darkness he found her face, pressed his palm to her cheek and guided her toward him for a short but sweet kiss. He gasped - no, shrieked! - when she slipped her hands under his shirt.

"Your hands are freezing!" he complained as he grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands from his sides.

She tried not to laugh but when he squirmed away from her touch, she couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry," she insisted in between infectious little giggles.

"Yeah, sounds like it," he grumbled as he released one of her wrists and reached to tickle her side.

"Castle!" she squawked as her body jerked away from him and her giggles turned to bursts of deep, hearty laughter as she flailed about under the attack of his fingers at her ribs.

She pushed off of the mattress, onto her knees and crawled to the end of the bed but he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him.

"No, I'll stop," he promised through his breathless laughter. He leant back against the pillows, bringing her with him, and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm done, I promise."

She turned in his arms, cuddled into his chest. "Happy now that you got your revenge?"

"Mm-hmm," he hummed. He fixed up the bedding, tucked the sheets around them both and pulled the duvet up to cover her shoulders before settling in closing his eyes. "Very happy."

Slowly, she inched her hands closer to the hem of his shirt but - although he couldn't quite stop his abs from twitching when she slipped them under the material - he didn't say or do anything to try to stop her. He appreciated his new role of human heater, cherished the fact that his was the bed she chose to crawl into on the cold winter nights.

"Goodnight, my love," he whispered as he began to drift off to sleep again.

"Goodnight," she whispered back. "Love you."

[leaderoffestivals]

Poltergeist Chapter 14

The Neverland of Grudges Ch 6

Arashi: Hold on a minute. Is everything alright? You didn’t do anything terrible to the children, did you?

Scenario Writer: Akira Season: Winter Characters: Mikejima Madara, Narukami Arashi

< The next day, in the morning. In a graveyard located in the same mountains as Dancing Cranes Home. >

Arashi: … … … …

Madara: HE~EYYY, ARASHI-SA~N!!

HAHAHA! How unexpectedly bizarre! I never imagined I’d be running into you in a place like this. This isn’t exactly the season to be visiting graves, is it? 

Arashi: … … Seriously? That’s my line~. You have the look of someone who definitely does not believe in the afterlife. You aren’t here to bow your head in pious prayer to Buddha, are you? 

Madara: Of course not. If there’s no such thing as God, then there’s no Heaven or Hell eitherrr. 

When you die, everything ends there―into nothingness. 

Arashi: There are exceptions, aren’t there? Or rather―even if you don’t believe it, Mama―Anzu-chan does, more or less, doesn’t she? 

That’s why she is still chasing after the shadow of “that child” to this very day.

Madara: Hoho~? Have you already solved the mystery, Arashi-san? Oh maaan, I thought I would be the first to figure it out. 

Arashi: Setting aside Aoba-senpai, I think Natsume-chan already knows what’s going on here as well.

That would explain why he chose Dancing Cranes Home as the setting this time, even though it’s chock full of unruly brats and thoroughly unsuitable for the staging of any heart-warming family drama.

The job this time seems to be more like a side-line, and the primary objective for us to be working as staff here is so that we can infiltrate Dancing Cranes Home―

Well, no―So that we can uncover and shed light on one of its mysteries this way. 

Madara: Just like undercover detectives.

Arashi: Exactly… … Speaking of which, how much have you figured out, Mama? Or rather, how much do you know?

Madara: Mm~, I only have a rough grasp of the situation myself, but—

After spending a whooole lot of time yesterday and today, playing with the kids in my Kaijuu group, I was able to completely drill into them the concept of “pecking order”—

And as a result, I was able to gently coax lots of information out of them. Thanks to that, most of my questions have been answered. 

Arashi: Hold on a minute. Is everything alright? You didn’t do anything terrible to the children, did you?

Madara: Of course not. I’m the son of a police officer after aaall, so I know how to stay within the limits of the law. 

Arashi: It’s not the law I’m concerned about, but the morality of your actions. If you’ve done anything to leave the shadow of any trauma on these children’s hearts, just know that I will never forgive you. 

Madara: HAHAHA! What’s with thaaat? Are you already thinking of yourself as their guardian even though you’ve been working at Dancing Cranes Home for only three days?

Arashi: Hmph. I’m very aware I don’t have the right to be putting on this kind of attitude on so many levels—

Arashi: But, do you know? That, even if the time we spent together was fleeting, and we’re complete strangers in the eyes of the law—if we’ve managed to communicate on a soul-to-soul level, we’d have forged a bond deeper than that of family.

Yesterday, I bowed my head and apologised to the children in my Rafflesia Group, saying, “I’m so, so sorry for making you cry”—and so on.

I meant those apologies sincerely, with all my heart. And you know what? Those kids of mine told me, “There’s no need for apologies at all. It wasn’t your fault, Arashi-sensei”—

Then they opened up a little and shared the grief they hid inside with me.

Madara: Hmmm. Grief, huh? For the kids in my group, it was rage. 

Whichever it is, they’re both negative emotions the “evil things” (1) are so fond of… … However, the situation here isn’t caused by the “evil things” or anything related to the occult. It’s caused by a graphically violent event that took place in reality. 

Arashi: Indeed… … It seems there was a terrible accident here at Dancing Cranes Home a few years back. 

Madara: That’s right. A reeeally catastrophic fire took place here. All the facilities in Dancing Cranes Home were completely burned down to a sorry pile of ashes and charred timber, so they say. 

According to the records, there were no casualties, however—

The remains of the burnt building still remain uncleared to this very day. They’ve been piled like garbage instead, along the mountain roads on the way here, and on the grounds of the new Dancing Cranes Home. 

Arashi: Ah, about that, it isn’t that no one has tried to remove the debris—it’s because they couldn’t remove the debris even if they wanted to~.

The girls I’m looking after told me that whenever hired workers came to remove the stuff, the stupid boys would always get in the way.

If the men were to try and load the remains of the burnt-down building onto their trucks to be taken away, the boys would either cause the engines to break down, or the tires to blowout.

Madara: Oh wow, seriously? The kids at Dancing Cranes Home are reeeally into acting like ghosts from horror movies, aren’t they?

Damaging all the modes of transportation to leave the characters stranded and trapped is a classic trope used to stir up fear.

Arashi: Mama, it feels like you’ve been referencing lots of movies and manga lately, haven’t you?

Madara: Well, it’s just that before Double Face was formed—and even after its formation, I should say—I was practically out of work. That’s why I’ve had an aggravating amount of free time on my hands.

Because of that, I’ve gotten reeeally good at killing time, and I’ve acquired lots of knowledge about various forms of entertainment while I was at it, too.

Arashi: Sigh. It’s a tragedy to be sidelined in work, isn’t it? I almost wish we at Knights could share some of our busyness as one of ES's Big 3 with you.

Madara: Hahaha. That’s the tricky thing about being in the idol business, isn’t it? It’s nigh impossible to simply hand off the work you’ve received to someone else.

Basically, the only ones who can complete the work are the ones who were commissioned to do it. 

Arashi: Exactly. We’re the only ones who can do the work we do. 

Conflicts arise whenever new members join, because of that very reason, mostly—they’re unable to integrate with the idol side, nor gain any acceptance in the eyes of the fans.

—————-To be continued——————-

Chapter 13 / Chapter 15

Translator’s Notes: 

Madara says『悪いもの』 (warui mono) or “evil things” here, which is the same way he refers to the so-called menace which fell out of the sky the Shinkai religion was supposed to keep in check.

This hasn't been proofed, so if there's any feedback, please DM me.

[verosvault]

🚨SPOILERS FOR FANTASY HIGH JUNIOR YEAR EPISODE 7🚨

Dimension20 "Fantasy High Junior Year"

Episode 7 "Stress Tested"

Timestamp: 00:20:30

Video Length: 4min. & 37sec.

The Salsa Jump (‣Pt. 1 | Pt. 2)

Murph: "Does anyone have like a detect magic or something? Make sure this food isn't like charming people or something."

Siobhan: "Ooo, good idea. Yeah, I'll cast Detect Magic as a ritual."

Riz: "People are after us, everyone!"

Kristen: "You're so smart."

Emily: "I think it's a really good thing that you're thinking."

Ally: "Am I still in like a kinda cowboy suit? I'm still in the Wranglers and the dress shirt?" 😂😂💀💀

XD BRENNAN'S FACE! 😂🤣💀

Brennan: "You must simply tell me what you are wearing."

Ally: "Am I?"

Brennan: "How would I know?! I've never had control over that before!" 😂🤣💀

Murph: "Brennan has never said 'Wranglers' on this show!" 😭😭✋✋

Fig: "I'm just saying, Kristen, if you took that cowboy hat-

Siobhan to Ally: "Since when were you wearing Wranglers?"

Ally: "This happened last episode!

Murph: "It did last episode." 😂😂💀💀

Ally: "This happened last episode!"

Fig: "If you took that cowboy hat, filled it up with salsa, let people dip."

Riz: "Let's do that."

Kristen loves the idea and agrees to do it! 😂🤣💀

Kristen: "All right. All right, guys. All right, pour the salsa in. I'm ready."

Murph: "Wait, let's first Detect Magic."

Ally: "Oh, right, right, right."

Murph: "Let's not get charmed. Let's find out if Gorgug is charmed"

Kristen: "Oh, wait, Gorgug. You might be charmed. Let's find out. Can we do this?"

Siobhan: "Yeah."

Ally: "Okay, we go outside to all the food and we each grab a different thing and can we cast?"

Brennan: "Yeah, and you cast Detect Magic on everything."

Siobhan: "Yeah."

Brennan: "You detect faint magic coming from gear that Kipperlilly and Mary Ann have, similar to what you guys have. You detect magic within the food trucks. That seems all very minor artificer stuff, that's like magical chafing dishes or some like Prestidigitations that are effectively like seasonings and stuff like that. Looking at the food, I don't think you see anything, but I think if you are doing Detect Magic, I'm gonna say give me an investigation with advantage from your Detect Magic."

Adaine gets a 14! 😁

Brennan: "I think you're looking very close at the food, and you just noticed that all of the trucks have the same graphic design on it, even though they're all different businesses, for the wax paper in the little baskets or whatever's in the tinfoil. And as you're looking at it, it looks like a company. And on a 14, I think you see the word, sort of over and over, the logo of whatever the wax paper is. It just says, 'Okay,' with a little green check mark in the 'O.'

Siobhan: "Okay, so that's maybe...the K stands for Copperkettle?"

Brennan: "I think on that, on a 14, as you Siobhan say that, you see that the O and K of Okay, and the faded green check mark in the O, it's a bubble next to the letter K. So there's some kind of subliminal-"

Emily: "Oh, like vote, like choose on the ballot."

Brennan: "Mm-hmm."

Emily: "Okay. That's fine."

Ally: "It's fine."

Emily: "It's just subliminal messaging."

Kristen: "Would you guys back me up if I go say hi to her and try to like, kinda-"

Fig: "Yeah, totally."

Adaine: "Yeah, shake her hand."

Kristen: "Yeah. Rough her up a little."

Ally: "Can I go up and get some enchiladas, and then go say hi to her?"

Brennan: "Yeah, absolutely."

Kristen: "Can you guys fill my hat with salsa?"

Lou: "Are we sure we wanna run that bit?"

Gorgug: *pouring salsa onto Kristen's hat* 😭✋

Ally: "We don't have to."

Kristen: "Okay. Okay."

Siobhan: "Salsa is such a wet food to eat."

Fig: "Oh, no, it's dripping."

Kristen: "It's so heavy. It's so heavy."

Riz: "That is so thick."

Oh gosh! 😭✋

Kristen: "Can you hand me..."

Fabian: "You're so muscular now."

Kristen: "Can you hand me the enchiladas?"

Fig: "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Kristen: "Do I look good?"

Riz: "You look really good."

Adaine: "You look really cool."

Gorgug: "The last one's mild."

Kristen: "Would you hold a big bowl of chips so she can dip it in? I think that would be a power move if she'll do it."

Fig: "I'll tilt it toward her."

Ally: "We walk up to her."

Kristen: "Hey... Girlie."

Brennan: "She has the bullhorn up and she says,"

Kipperlilly: "Hi, Kristen. How are you?"

Kristen: "Hey, I'm doing great. This is awesome."

Kipperlilly: "You're covered in salsa."

Kristen: "No, no, no."

Riz: "The hat's covered in salsa."

Kristen: "It's a bowl. It's like kind of a dip."

Emily: "I dip one to give her the idea of how it works."

Kristen: "So that's how it works, milady." *tilts salsa hat towards Kipperlilly*

the awesome caption and sound effects team: (salsa sloshing)

Adaine: "Wow, so random. So cool, Kristen."

Kristen: "Thank you."

Adaine: "You got my vote for sure."

Kristen: "This is awesome. How'd you put all this on?"

Kipperlilly: "Oh, this? This is nothing. This is just, like, I don't know, it's like a fun little thing. I mean, I heard that you guys had an amazing party on Saturday."

Kristen: "I thought I saw you there."

Kipperlilly: "You did? I wasn't able to make it. I was studying."

Kristen: "Oh, dang."

Emily: "Insight! Insight!"

Adaine: "How come you were studying? You don't have anything to study."

Emily: "Come on!"

Adaine: "You already passed this whole year."

Fig gets a 21 insight on Kipperlilly!

Brennan: "I'm not even gonna say that you think she's telling the truth. I think what you see is a ****ing polished steel orb of a personality."

Emily: "Okay."

Siobhan: "Terrifying."

Kipperlilly: "Yeah, home studying. You know, I'm sure you know how it is." *looks at Riz*

Riz: *nods* 💀

Murph's face during the head nod! 😂🤣💀 He thinks Kipperlilly is SO SUS (CAUSE SHE IS)! 😂🤣😭💀✋

[cottoncandywoof]

Gimme in writing. Expose yourself

7, 12, 14, 21 for TMNT ask game

7.) Which iteration is your favorite?

ok, so, to preface, i have watched rise, the mutant mayhem movie, 2012, and a bit of 2003 and 1987. this is shameful for me, and im devastated because in comparison 2012 kinda sucks, but i really like it. the thing is, i am thus far liking 03 A LOT, so id be more sure of my answer were it for the fact that 03 is banging with the characterization of their characters. they know who they want them to be. 03 could beat 2012 if i end up liking that raph more

wait hold on i must return and say that mutant mayhem may change the game bc i watched the movie (we watched it twice) and i absolutely loved the characters and splinter and how they interact, but since we havent seen the characters enough, i cant put it on my top. i like all the characters A LOT, but the other iterations do have characters i like disproportionately, ie raph (or 12 casey)

12.) Which version of Donatello is your favorite?

between rise and 12 of course. i like mms kpop ass too but lmao, doesnt crack the top 2.

if i had to choose, i love me an asshole character, and rise donnie really cranks it up a notch, but 12 has such funny comebacks and fucking got me with little robot friend, that perhaps hes a bit more my favourite ? but really close

14.) Which version of Splinter is your favorite?

i think i make fun of sexy splinter too much to say hes my favourite, and while i prefer the hamato yoshi backstory, i think my favourite thus far might be mutant mayhem splinter... hes just so DAD. ill see how 03 goes but hes a close second. and then sexy splinter third bc ugh i cant escape him

21.) What is your favorite story arc?

does my good old american tales of the tmnt count ?

because bebop and rocksteady finale hands down lmaooo. i was asking myself what did i enjoy the MOST ? and that may have been it. it was just so much fun to watch and you could kinda tell they were having fun with season 5. second favourite "arc" if it counts is the 2012 metalhead ending ☹️. third i think shredder arc in rise ? woof !

[lololollywrites]

LoloLolly's 2023 Year in Review

Thank you for the tag, @discordantwords! It seems apt, as you're one of the reasons I was productive (for me, that is) this year - I so appreciate your FTH bid! I participated for the very first time in 2023 and published TWO FTH fics. Such a cool experience.

Here is my 2023 stats page from AO3. I know it's modest for most seasoned AO3 authors, but as a relatively new poster on the site, I've been thrilled so see the constant growth and explosion of support.

Completed fics:

*I currently have no WIPS, nor did I publish any ficlets this year. We'll see what 2024 brings!

Never Been Better

John gets married. Sherlock leaves the wedding reception early, but he’s fine. Fine. The seven percent solution? It helps him think. If only Baker Street didn’t seem so empty. But he’s perfectly okay. Never been better, in fact. Never been better. (Published January 30, 2023, completed February 24, 2023; Chapters 3/3, 16,109 words)

Pressure Points

(My first FTH entry for @discordantwords)

The bonfire doesn't happen during The Empty Hearse. Instead, both John and Sherlock are placed into a life-or-death situation. One that may prove too much for a still-wounded Sherlock. Excerpt: “Pressure p-points. They’re observing our reactions to the situation. It’s possible they’ll intercede should w-we be in any real danger of dying – it’s an ex-experiment. It may or may not be attempted m-murder.” “May or may not be?” “We must operate un-under the assumption that it is, of course.” “Already there, Sherlock. The water’s up to our fucking ribcages.” “Mm. So it is.” (Published May 26, 2023, completed June 14, 2023; Chapters 4/4, 19,892 words)

Cold Inside

(My second FTH entry for @shakespearelovedladymacbeth)

Sherlock has just shot Magnussen, and John feels adrift. Everything is wrong. He's fairly certain he hates his wife, too. The regrets are too numerous for him to count. Sherlock is in prison, his ultimate fate unknown and the isolation slowly (or, rather, worryingly quickly) whittling away at his sanity. Mycroft is equally untethered, scrambling for options. Perhaps John can help. And perhaps, just perhaps, they can manage to save Sherlock and rid themselves of Mary in one fell swoop. (HLV fix-it) (Published October 6, 2023, completed November 3, 2023; Chapters 5/5, 26,843 words)

[she-karev]

Trying to Get Pregnant (Smut) (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister)

Age Rating: 16+

Chapters: One of Five

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy/Station 19

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 18 Episode 17/Season 5 Episode 17

Warning: Smut

AN: So I felt naughty and seeing as I’m taking the pregnancy route I thought showing this couple trying to get pregnant would tickle your fancies lol.

Summary: Andrew comes home to be surprised by Amber who prepares a romantic night for them so they can start trying to have a baby.

Words: 2341

February 17th, 2022

Andrew enters his house at 9:30 PM already looking forward to a night of relaxing with his wife in bed. He is however taken back by Giorgia’s cover of the song Preghero playing low over the home stereo in the living room. He sees the living room that surprises him even more. The couches are moved so the fireplace is in full view with a fire already set and candles lit around the faux white rug he doesn’t recognize that has two black faux fur pillows for support. The sight makes him question if he fell into an alternate dimension or a romance novel.

He looks around the house for Amber as he takes his backpack off and sets it on the floor, “Amber? Are you here in this very romantic setting that I’m hoping was you’re doing and not a couple who broke into our house?”

“Surprise.” He turns to find Amber approaching him from the kitchen carrying a plate of strawberries but it’s her appearance that stops him dead. Instead of a hoodie and shorts that she usually wears after work she is wearing a black lace negligee that shows the upper curves of her breasts as well as her tone arms and long legs. Her hair is done very pretty with her blonde waves down and curled. Her makeup is done with a smoky eyeshadow and pink lipstick. The scene in front of him shocks him frozen in place and he takes a moment before responding.

“What did I do to deserve this? Seriously what did I do? Because I will keep doing it if it gets me this every time I come home.” Andrew asks with a lustful smile.

Amber grins before explaining, “Well it’s been a week since my implant got taken out.”

A week ago, Amber went to an OB at a clinic outside of Grey Sloan to get her Nexplanon arm implant removed. The minor procedure was successful, and Amber was told she should be able to conceive as early as 7 days and as late as 14 days.

Andrew nods at his beautiful wife with a smile, “It has. I’m guessing this is our first attempt at getting pregnant?”

“Mm-hm.” Amber nods with a smile, “I thought with everything going on with the program and you trying to help with the backlog that tonight would be a good night to have all the romance and sex and love that comes with making a baby.” Amber pulls Andrew’s head down for a tender kiss that he returns holding her waist covered by black lace before she pulls back. She smiles at him before grabbing his hand and leading him to the living room of love that he happily follows her in.

He chuckles in delight as she sets the plate by the rug and sits on top of the pillow flipping her hair over her shoulder while her husband takes his leather jacket off. Amber takes a strawberry and takes a bite as Andrew takes his black t shirt off. Amber looks on in lust at her handsome and muscular lover who notices and grins slyly.

“What are you looking at?” He teases at her causing them both to chuckle and he tosses his shirt on the couch and joins her on the rug where she is sitting up looking especially gorgeous to him as he leans on his side against his pillow enjoying the view of his wife who smiles at him.

“You have to admit as far as making a baby this is the perfect moment of conception.”

Amber tells her shirtless husband as he lies on his side propping himself up on the pillow against the rug of their living room only clad in his jeans. Amber is in a black negligee with her wavy blonde hair down looking especially beautiful to her husband. The fireplace in front of them is lit and there are candles around them setting the mood in the dim atmosphere. The stereo is lowly playing a romantic Italian playlist Amber made for this occasion. And to add more effect Amber grabs a strawberry that she holds out to Andrew who chuckles before eating the offered food from her hand that she places back in the plate when he finished.

“I have to say you have really gone all out here.” He says impressively to his wife, “Before I walked in, I was thinking rose petals on the bed with some Frank Sinatra to set the mood but no you have beaten me, my love.”

Amber grins proudly, “Well we are making a baby together and it should be special. Plus, the setting might make me forget about the bruise in my arm from my procedure.”

Andrew hums remembering the bruise, “Well is there anything I can do on my part to make sure we conceive as soon as possible? Besides the obvious of course.” Andrew moves to sit up and leans down to kiss Amber’s neck making her feel flushed as his lips touch that sensitive part of her neck.

Amber moans before speaking as her husband continues kissing and nibbling her neck, “Well actually I’ve read a study that shows that consuming caffeine on a regular basis can decrease male sperm count so until we get pregnant your gonna have to cut off on your morning expresso.”

Andrew pauses kissing and pulls back with a shocked look over his wife’s proposal, “…Um…”

Amber breaks out in a smile and laughs at his expression, “Oh my god you should see your face!”

Andrew relaxes at that and seeks to confirm, “Wait you weren’t being serious?”

“No!” Amber says with a smile, “Lighten up, we’re supposed to be having fun.”

“I’m Italian.” Andrew states in a serious tone with an amused smile, “There is nothing funny about taking away an Italian man’s expresso. It’s like telling him he needs to have his blood drained out of him.”

Amber grins at that shaking her head, “Okay fine no more coffee jokes, let’s get right down to it, let the fun begin.”

Andrew smiles, “Yeah I’ll show you how to have some fun.”

Andrew leans forward and kisses Amber who responds. Their tongues overlap each other as Amber gently holds Andrew’s face in her hands. He begins to lean forward, and she follows allowing him to be on top of her as she lies on the faux pillow and rug. He pushes himself up by his left elbow hovering over her as he kisses her while his right hand explores her body covered by the black lace.

She loves the gentle way he touches her body yet revels in his need to knead her flesh like he can’t get enough of her. It’s the closest thing to making love she has ever gotten in her life. He loves feeling her athletic and soft body under his hands with his favorite part of hers being her legs that he strokes with his hand squeezing her exposed thigh.

Amber moans against his lips and speaks between strokes, “I love you.”

Andrew pulls back to look into her beautiful eyes as if he can see into her soul, “I love you.” He kisses her again and she feels his wavy hair in her hand never getting tired of the velvety feel.

As he strokes her leg, she grips his bare shoulder blades pulling him closer so he can kiss her neck and trail down to her collar bone and the soft curves of her breasts. He proceeds to take her black panties off swiftly before she helps take his jeans off allowing him to sink into her causing her to gasp and grip his back.

He breathes heavily next to her ear enjoying this moment that she planned for them, “Dio sei perfetto. (God you are perfect)”

Hearing him speak Italian heightens Amber’s pleasure and she responds whispering in his ear, “Anche tu. (So are you)”

Andrew’s throat rumbles at the soft and sultry voice of her’s speaking his native tongue. He kisses her passionately and she responds gripping his muscular back as he begins to move his hips against hers. He keeps a slow and steady pace enjoying the feel of her while she pants against his ear nearing an orgasm at every thrust.

She wraps her legs around his waist pulling closer making him groan in pleasure nearly at the end on his part. He kisses her ravenously as he picks up the pace causing her to moan in his mouth and clutches his side with her hand, her delicate nails digging into his skin with both of their desires at a fever pitch. They finally reach climax at the same time.

Andrew collapses on top of her with both of them trying to catch their breath and he rolls off of her covering both of them with a blanket. Amber exhales deeply, still feeling the aftershock that causes her to grin in lust.

“I should have told you I wanted to get pregnant much sooner.”

He laughs softly pulling her against him and kisses her head with a smile, “Same.” They then fall fast asleep on the rug with both feeling satiated after the romantic scene.

The Next Morning

Andrew stands by the kitchen island sipping his expresso looking over his phone before he starts the day. His sister-in-law Jo Karev is up to her neck in backlogs, OB consults and covering the pit and out of generosity she volunteered at the Station 19 clinic with Amber. She didn’t know she was working the pit today and feeling bad for her he offered to cover the pit for her today. She was grateful of course and promised to pay him back somehow.

Amber walks inside the kitchen wearing a tan blazer over a black graphic t shirt tucked into her black jeans. She fluffs her hair a bit and presents herself to her husband, “How do I look?”

Andrew grins as he holds the tiny expresso mug, “You look very nice. Those firefighters at the station aren’t gonna know what hit them.”

After helping with the inventory for the walk-in clinic at Station 19 Amber offered to volunteer along with Carina and Jo. Amber and Jo know from experience how scared low-income people can be around doctors and thought with their backgrounds the patients can relate to them more and be more trusting of them to do an exam. Plus, with the residency program still being under review and possibly being shut down Amber thought a change of scenery would be good for her.

Amber takes out an apple from the fridge and chomps on it, “Well I wanted something that was presentable but not so much like an ‘I’m better than you because I can afford Gucci’ front but more like a ‘I can afford nice things, but I am here to help you because I know where your coming from’. Does it give off that vibe?”

“It is a lot of thought for an outfit.” Andrew sips his expresso, “Just be yourself and if they feel scared just tell them a childhood story and they’ll let their guard down. Don’t be nervous.”

Amber grins, “Well it’s hard to stress after what we did last night.” Andrew moans under his breath remembering their passionate night before leaning down to kiss her, “Do you think that was the one? I mean I know it’s too much to hope after only a week.”

“If it isn’t then we try again. And again. And again.” Andrew repeats his breath getting huskier each time making Amber smile, “Tell you what how about tonight I can be in charge of setting the mood for baby making? Hopefully it’ll be as good as your scene last night.”

“I don’t know I think I raised the bar last night it’ll be kind of hard to top that.” Amber teases stroking Andrew’s arms, “But I would love to see what your churn out tonight.”

Andrew grins holding his wife’s firm waist, “After the pit all day it’s gonna be a welcome relief. And I imagine it’ll be crazy at the clinic too and making a baby with your husband will be the perfect night cap.”

Amber chuckles mischievously before pulling away and finishing her apple, “Have you told anyone about our plans?”

“No I’ve been busy with work and the backlogs are insane I haven’t told anyone, not even my sister.”

“Oh thank god.” Amber says in dramatic relief causing Andrew to raise an eyebrow feeling protective as a brother, “Baby I love Carina like she’s my own sister you know that it’s just with the hormone treatments for IVF she’s…” Amber waves her hands to find the right words, “Well she’s…”

“Infuriating?” Andrew asks.

“You said it not me.” She points out before throwing her apple core away, “But yes and us trying to get pregnant will push one of her many buttons. And she will spend all day at the station complaining about how young I am and how you can get me pregnant in five seconds while she has to suffer.”

Andrew nods, “Yeah I can already hear her telling me how unfair it is that my gender can have a baby at 90 while women stop at 35.”

“Exactly. Now the good news is she and Maya did the home IVF so it should take. We will tell them we are trying as soon as she gets pregnant, and she will be happy to be an aunt as well as a mother. I hope it’s soon.” Amber says already feeling exhausted of a grumpy and hormonal Carina, “Please god let it be soon.”

Andrew chuckles at that kissing the side of her head, “We should get going, we don’t want Bailey pissed at us along with my sister.”

Amber hurriedly grabs her purse at that frightening image, “Oh god let’s move, come on.” The couple quickly walk out the door ready to start their day at their individual places.

Next Part Here

[jamiesfootball]

Please tell me more about gender flipped Jamie because that seems like So Many Thoughts that I would love to hear

I have so many thoughts and yet they are so ephemeral and unspecific and this has been languishing in my askbox and this isn't technically what you asked for but here's what I wrote instead:

Chelsea sent Roy into retirement the way you sent an aging dog to be euthanized. Slowly and gradually, an inescapable march towards a day you knew was coming. Roy's agent gently broke the news to him that they wouldn't be renewing his contract, but there was no gently breaking Roy.

The retirement itself was an underwhelming affair; he stayed numb throughout the presser, answered questions, and left the spotlight. No bang--not even a whimper.

That was months ago. Now Roy Kent, former Chelsea star, was daydrinking at a bar in Richmond at half-three in the afternoon, wondering if he could convince the matron of the house to change the fucking channel.

"Rough season our girls have had," the proprietor, Mae, explained in a tone befitting a bartender cleaning a pint. In reality, she'd joined Roy at the bar with her own glass of chardonnay. "Lot of shake ups. New owner, new gaffer. Still, it could be worse. This new coach of theirs might be from the States, but we're sitting higher up on the table than we have in years. Does your lot keep up with the Super League, then?"

It was one in a series of loaded questions. Roy couldn't imagine you could be a bartender in London without knowing who Roy Kent was. Sheer wasted optimism, he'd had, moving out of Chelsea and assuming anything short of leaving the country would get him away from the haunting specter of his own fucking jersey.

"Yeah," Roy answered reluctantly. "Yeah, some of us keep up. All the teams in the Premier have sister teams, don't we?" Except for Richmond. The one outlier--the only team in the league without a big brother to speak of.

"Mm. Then you heard about the scandal?"

Roy grunted. Of course he heard. Everyone knew about Rupert Mannion ages ago; it was about bloody time someone did something. Awful for his ex-wife that it'd fallen to her to do it.

Mae topped off his chardonnay before pouring the remainder of the bottle into her own glass. "This new gaffer though, he's one of the good ones. He hangs around here sometimes, and you can tell just by listening to him--he respects those girls."

Since retiring, Roy had gotten used to living in a fog. He spent time with his niece, met with the yoga mums, let old ladies in bars talk his ears off to their heart's content, but anything he did between those events was a drudgery--a slow painful effort to drag one foot in front of the other, metaphorically and physically.

So he couldn't have said what it was about Mae's offhand praise for the Richmond Whippet's new gaffer that rankled him into talking back.

"Is he any good though?"

"What was that?"

"Their new coach," Roy gestured with his wine glass at the television in the corner. "The American. Is he any good?"

Mae shrugged one shoulder. "He's gotten better."

"So not really then."

The look Mae gave him could've scoured paint from a wall. "Well, talent isn't everything. Is it, Mr. Kent?"

She left under the guise of check on the three men in the corner. Regulars, by the looks of it; and the three of them the only ones aside from Mae wearing supporting colors for the local team.

He hadn't watched a match in ages. Oh, he'd caught highlights--it was impossible not too--but the few times he'd tried, unfairness ballooned in his chest like an atom bomb, and he gave up.

He hadn't bothered to watch anything from the women's league either. What difference would it make to try watching a different league. Sure, he didn't know any of them the way he knew the men in the Premier League, but football was football and envy was envy.

From what little he'd seen so far, he didn't envy Richmond at all. Everton had them on the ropes.

Roy winced as Number 14 knocked one off the crossbar. It'd been a good attempt. A solid cross from Number 9 had put it in the path, but with no one else nearby she'd gone for a risky shot.

From what little he'd paid attention to, only 9 and 14 were making any actual progress on the pitch, with 9 working double time to cut up the field. Every time the ball dropped back down the center, Richmond lost possession. Every. Time.

It was Number 6 that was the problem. McNally, that was it. Red-head, center-mid, captain. Roy knew her by reputation. A tough, seasoned player, who'd gotten her fair collection of caps for England. She had the experience; it didn't make any fucking sense why she'd be the weak link.

Roy looked away. He took a gulp of his chardonnay and relished in the unpleasant way it stung his nose. It'd be masochism to keep watching.

He kept watching.

Within five minutes, he'd cracked it.

Number 6 refused to pass to Number 9.

The gameplay split off like a branching tree. Either 6 got possession, crossed to another player, and they lost it to Everton's deep defensive line; or 9 got it herself and took it up the field, at which point the entire Richmond side narrowed down to the actions of 9 and 14.

What the fuck was going on?

In the aerial cameras showed two Everton players marking Number 9. Number 6 crossed to Number 24, and 24 took it to the net only for a defender to block her out easily.

A close up lingered on Number 24. She couldn't have looked more upset with herself. Young thing. Good talent, bad nerves. Fixable with the right support.

Number 6 got into Number 9's face and shouted. So where's her fucking support?

The camera panned in on 6 and 9 as what looked like a shouting match took place between the teammates. There was McNally, red-haired and red-faced and openly swearing even if the mics couldn't pick it up, and then there was Number 9. A cut of a girl, strong featured and iron-jawed, with her forehead set down like she intended to ram McNally like a bull if the captain came any closer.

What a fucking mess.

The camera panned to the gaffer, who stood with his hands in his pockets and a frown under his mustache. He called neither player off.

The match went back into play and almost immediately Number 9 took a foul. A blatant hit, tackled before she could grab possession again. Everton had singled her out just as clearly as Roy had.

Number 6 stood off to the side while 14 and 24 argued with the ref. The captain watched in open annoyance as Number 9 levered herself off the ground with a wince, her left side stained with grass and a limp.

Some fucking captain.

Number 9 took position for a free kick, and her name finally flashed across the screen in a font large enough for Roy to read. Jamie Tartt. Tartt lined up for the kick, for all the good it would do when she was a good forty meters back--

Tartt walloped the ball cleanly into the net.

A frisson of electricity ran down Roy's spine.

The lads at the end of the bar broke into cheers.

Half of the Richmond Whippets descended on Tartt. The other half shuffled around in discontent.

Number 24--Obisanya--nodded at Tartt, who nodded back. They didn't hug.

Extricating herself from (half) of her teammates, Tartt threw an arm around the only person she'd passed to all night--14, Rojas. Heads pressed together, headband to matching headband, they looked furtive and serious in their two-person huddle.

The camera panned back to the gaffer. He clapped but he didn't celebrate.

The whole thing was bizarre.

No, Mae was right; talent wasn't everything. Because Richmond had talent--what a spectacular fucking goal--and they were a fucking mess, like nothing Roy had ever witnessed before in his career.

If Mae was willing to put up with him, he might have to come back for the next match. Who knew, maybe he'd try swinging by on an off-match day to catch their gaffer and give him a piece of his mind.

Finally, something to look forward to. His sister would be so proud.

[transgenderer]

The nest is a shallow bracket made of sticks, which the birds gather in flight, breaking them off trees. The sticks are glued together (and the nest to a vertical surface) with copious amounts of the bird's saliva. During the breeding season, each adult's salivary glands more than double in size, from 7 mm × 2 mm (0.276 in × 0.079 in) in the non-breeding season to 14 mm × 5 mm (0.55 in × 0.20 in) during the breeding season.

Perfectly analogous to a mothers swollen breasts after pregnancy...