#I'm honestly not gonna tag this one

[math-memes]

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Prologue

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 13k

Chapter Warnings: angst, miscommunication, ghosting? maybe, some cursing, mentions of OC having nephews (gross), being broken up with over a text, allusions to anxiety, my oc being argumentative and avoidant (she's me), and nico also being avoidant and a poor communicator (he's a man) (he's also a capricorn) (sorry capricorns)

Summary: Poppy Jensen’s job with the New Jersey Devils was supposed to be her first big step into adulthood - a way to prove to herself and her overbearing parents that she could make her own way in life. She was never supposed to become involved with any of the players. Becoming best friends with their captain was stupid. Getting her heart broken by him was tragic. Getting knocked up with his child was just plain messy.

Series Masterlist

A/N: is a 13k prologue excessive? probably. is the mixture of tenses in this part going to grind your gears? most definitely. am I going to do anything about it? no.

I've never actually published any writing before so go easy on the girl. if I need to tag any warnings just let me know. if you like the fic let me know. if you don't like the fic I beg you I'm having a bad month spare meeeeee.

TW for british english spellings because shock horror I am unfortunately british, get used to u's and s's where you least expect them, I will change my spell check settings for no one!! nico's facebook aunt shenanigans have lit a fire within me today and I was writing a later chapter for this fic and thinking if I don't actually put this out into the world I never will so here we are hi my name is maggie I hope you enjoy

Poppy

New Years has always been Poppy Jensen’s favourite holiday. The dwindling aftermath of Christmas - lights and decorations still hung throughout the city, everyone decked in the hats, scarves and ugly sweaters gifted by distant relatives over the Christmas period, and the six days of limbo usually spent drinking and eating copious amounts of leftovers before the new year, new me resolutions kick in - and experiencing it all in her hometown surrounded by the people she loves the most, there is no other time like it.

This year, she feels like the festive period has been one, long, strung-out horror show. 

Self-inflicted, of course, like all the other tragedies of her life, she does know she only has herself to blame for how pathetic it has turned out.

She had prepared herself for Christmas to be a dud. The one time of the year that she and her family put aside their differences, and this year she had opted out - or, so her mother had dramatically concluded; she actually just had work commitments. But, this would be her first spent alone due to the fact her parents had decided to go and visit her older brother, Oliver, and his family in San Francisco.

They didn’t have to fly across the country - Oliver has more than enough money to book his clan on a flight back to his home state, but obviously as the golden child, the Jensen’s must bend to his every whim. Of course, Poppy had been invited. Her relationship with her brother wasn’t mutually acrimonious, but the aforementioned work commitments got her out of that bore-fest. 

She does love her brother. Sometimes. Christmas, especially - he’s a great and expensive gift-giver. And she loves his wife, Kimberley, and their two sons - her nephews, James and Lucas - but spending the holidays with them would have been a lot. Her family is hard work on the best of days, and the only reason Christmas is ever bearable is because her mother hires help, and it’s impossible for the stress train to leave the station if Priscilla Jensen is given enough wine early enough in the day to dull her usual wicked demeanour. 

Kimberley, God bless her soul, maintains a sober house, and Poppy, as much as she respects this, would not go anywhere near that train wreck if you paid her a million dollars.

There’s also the fact that the holidays were invented to unwind, and Poppy somehow always gets lumped on nephew duty. She had long grown out of her boys are gross phase, but lord, do those two try everything in their power to bring it back. She has lost count of the amount of their bodily fluids she has had wiped all over her best clothes over the years. If she had agreed to fly out, she no doubt would have ended up being the one to watch the kids while everyone else had their version of a good time, and so she’d successfully managed to avoid all that with a half-assed promise of visiting at Easter, instead.

Her brother hadn’t been too upset - one less place setting at the table for him to worry about - but her mother had been livid, and there was no chance Poppy would live it down without owing her.

God forbid she, as an adult, actually got to choose how to spend her time.

She hadn’t actually been completely alone on Christmas, not all day, at least. Her best friend Nia had invited her to eat with her and her dad, but they were hardly putting her in the festive spirit with their constant snipes at each other, and so she’d given herself stomach ache stuffing herself full of corn bread and roasted carrots and dipped out to make it home for the Giants game - because there’s no better tradition than watching your team lose on Christmas Day. At least she wasn’t there to watch her dad and brother yell at the TV and get all grumpy for hours after the fact. 

She’d watched Love Actually with mulled wine in hand and fallen asleep on the couch - waking up in the middle of the night to the muffled sound of her neighbours screaming at each other through the walls. 

Poppy had the 26th off, and spent the day preparing her apartment for New Years, knowing she wouldn’t have any other opportunity to get her big clean done. She’d cleared out half her wardrobe - done several loads of laundry so that she could donate clean clothes to the women’s shelter a few blocks over - rid her kitchen of all the outdated tinned foods in the backs of her cupboards, dusted every surface, vacuumed every floor, colour-coded her bookshelf to look more aesthetically pleasing and then within an hour put it back in alphabetical order - all in a day’s work. 

By the time the 27th rolled around, and she had to return to work, she had tired herself out completely. She had been drained, and the worst part of it all, she didn’t even actually need to be there.

Sure, December was a crazy time to work in the NHL, their schedule unrelenting when the season got into full-swing, and the holiday events that Poppy’s team had to organise seemed never ending, but she had technically been given limbo-week off. Not that her mother had to know.

The Youth Foundation team had all wrapped up work for the year on the 23rd, and if Poppy was a truly good daughter/sibling/aunt, she would have booked herself on a red-eye after the home win that evening, but the second the opportunity to accept an actual real excuse not to change her plans arose, she took it with open arms. Her guilt of lying to her family diminished, along with her will to live at the fact she had - self-inflicted, as always - put herself down to work her favourite time of the year.

Her career with the New Jersey Devils had started with an internship in her final year of college. She had worked with the digital content department for her first year, quickly being sniped by the Foundation in the middle of her second year and working her way past content creation to helping co-ordinate and run some of the community events.

When her friend Jessica had approached Poppy and begged for her to cover her spot in the department they had started out together in for limbo-week, spending it with the team at their games, she had jumped at the bit. She knew no one else would agree to work last minute after having their time off approved, and was pleased to relay to her mom that she had to prove herself as a team player if she wanted more responsibility at work. It was all in the name of bumping up her performance and getting her name out there, and definitely not avoiding her family and that whole shit-show.

Poppy loves her job, and is more than happy with her career, but she could sing about it until the cows come home and her parents could not care less. They rarely ever acknowledged her successes because her life didn’t fit the mould they had set out for her - another reason she hadn’t wanted to spend this Christmas hounded with questions of why don’t you come work for your dad? Or why didn’t you accept the interview Ollie so kindly got for you? She doesn’t want a non-sensical, nothing job made up to keep her under her family’s influence. She has forged her own path, one that many dream of in one of the biggest industries in the country, and no matter how much she disappointed her parents in comparison to her lackey brother, she is content with where she is.

She had completely forgotten, however, that the devils played away on the 29th and 30th, and if she was going to be tagging along with the bare-bones limbo week media crew, there was no way in hell she was getting out of joining the team’s New Years celebrations. 

She had done her fair share of dodging team events already this year, and despite the fact she could appease most of her friends within the organisation, there was one person who would not let her off so easy.

This year is Jack Hughes’ first year hosting the big Devils New Years party - he’d, in her opinion, stupidly volunteered pretty much last minute after the venue the team had booked flooded in November and cancelled their reservation - and he would not let Poppy get out of coming, even if that meant scuppering her own annual tradition of getting shit-faced with her girls in their perfectly planned New Jersey bar crawl.

She’d done her best work to convince him - had almost sold him on the dream - she and her best friend, Nia, always start at the bar below Nia’s apartment in Hoboken, and then dot to the bars closest to their other friends apartments until they end up by Poppy’s, which has the perfect little rooftop set up where they get to watch all the fireworks across the Hudson. It’s how she’s spent the holiday every year since she and all her girls turned 21, and it was her favourite day, her favourite way to ring in a new year with her best friends in her favourite place in the world. 

Jack’s argument was that he also had a great view across the Hudson from his Jersey City apartment, and that she was less likely to catch hypothermia this year because his view came through floor to ceiling windows and the luxury of central heating.

She’d tried to argue that she had all intentions of meeting her future husband on her adventures through New Jersey, and he gave the quick rebuttal that he had plenty of single friends she was yet to meet. 

There was no excuse she could give that he couldn’t counteract, and so she’d eventually given up with the resolution that when he is 3 drinks deep, Jack Hughes can barely remember his own name, let alone keep tabs on where Poppy is, or if she ever showed up in the first place. She can always just say she’s running late until he stops asking.

And then she’d somehow gotten roped into helping him set up. 

Jack had cornered her on their flight home from Boston, where they had just lost to the Bruins and, all of a sudden, no one was in any kind of mood to party.

“I swear,” he had said, throwing himself down into the vacant seat beside her as she attempted to clear her inbox on the short journey, swiping away messages and storing others to review when work started back up in the next week, “If I mess up this party, and my name goes down in Devils history tied to the biggest depression session this team have ever seen, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“How the hell would that be my fault?” She had scoffed, kicking at his feet when he had tried to man-spread next to her and they had quite abruptly knocked knees. The staff seats toward the front of the plane weren’t quite as spacious as the player seats further back.

“You brought some serious negative energy with you on this trip,” he shrugged, reaching for the bag of skittles she had stashed in the pocket on the seat in front of her and stealing a handful, “And I can’t blame you for us losing, so I’m gonna blame you for constantly trying to abandon my event and making me feel so insecure about it that it turned into a complete bore-fest because I didn’t have my literal professional event planner friend to help me set it all up.”

Jack Hughes had joined the New Jersey Devils at the same time Poppy had started her internship. There had been some corny ice breaker session for everyone new to the organisation that season, and they’d bonded over their shared love for country music. He’d become dependent on her as a local to the area for recommendations for everything - food, sports bars, coffee, grocery shopping, running routes - and they’d quickly developed a friendship that had lasted them thus far. No fallouts, no drama, no issues. Being friends with Jack is easy. 

Poppy is older by near enough 18 months, and considers him as close to a little brother as she will ever find - annoying, teasing, loud and somewhat of a know-it-all, but he cares deeply, and he’s loyal, honest and open with her, and she loves him for it.

“I’ve done my part even helping you plan the thing,” she had to snatch the bag back from him before he finished the skittles off, needing the sugar to keep her awake for the quick drive home when they landed. Jack had been on her back about this party since he had first put his name in the hat to host, and she had been gracious, helping him arrange food, drinks, decorations and DJ equipment in the hopes it would lessen the blow that she didn’t want to attend. “I didn’t bring negative energy.”

“Do I have to kidnap you when we deplane or are you gonna come around tomorrow morning and help me?”

“Kidnap me?” she couldn’t help but laugh, casting a quick measured glance over his figure. “Real cute, Jack, you’re nothing without your stick.”

“I could take you.” He attempted to throw a skittle up into the air and catch it in his mouth, not accounting for the fact they were on a moving, somewhat turbulent plane, and he barely had enough finesse to pull that off on the ground. The candy landed and bounced off his cheekbone, and he watched it fall to the floor with a child-like pout. 

“It’s fighting talk like that that would lose you another tooth, Hughesy,” she had threatened in jest. 

“I’m a middle child, I don’t start fights I can’t finish, Popcorn.” He also has a track record of giving Poppy the worst nicknames she has ever heard in her entire 24 years on this Earth. “Luke’s already said he’ll help me on the kidnapping front, we have a plan.”

“Your plan is nothing without incentive, Jack. You come at me with weak threats when you could just offer me something in return.”

“Like what?” His eyes narrowed toward her, shuffling in the seat until he was facing her fully. 

“I want to bring Nia.” If she was going to be subjected to this, she was bringing back up - and she had thought this would be a good trade, knowing how protective the boys were of their private events, especially those thrown in their own homes.

Poppy hadn’t liked the way his lips curved up immediately, like she had fallen straight into his trap. “Done.” She should have known better. He stood up, edging back into the aisle and sending her a wink. “I’ll text you details on when and where I need you. Your hot friend is more than welcome to offer a hand, too.”

And that is how Poppy has ended up spending the day of New Years Eve, her favourite day of the year, rushing to set up Jack Hughes’ apartment. 

Her first task had been to go round to Jack’s and accept the deliveries that came while he and Luke were out picking up the decks for the DJ. Drinks arrived by the crateful, the boxes of paper plates, cups and other table wears took her several trips up and down from Jack’s apartment to the building lobby until she broke out in a sweat, and she had done her best to hang all the decorations, her last call being to pick up the bigger decoration delivery from downstairs.  

Poppy, with the help of Lionel, the building’s concierge, loads the elevator full of decor, ranging from golden helium balloons that spell out ‘Happy New Year’ and ‘2024’, a large roll that should hopefully unravel to reveal a backdrop for a makeshift photo-booth, as well as a deconstructed balloon arch that gave her PTSD from the amount of events at the Rock she’d had to put them together.

Lionel offers to come up with her to help unload everything upstairs, but the thought of cramming another person in there with all the stuff makes her feel claustrophobic, so she politely declines - though, when the elevator doors open and she bumps face first into a firm chest, her nose smushing against a khaki t-shirt she wishes she had someone else with her to buffer the tension that stiffens her spine. 

A large, calloused hand wraps around her upper arm to steady her, and another reaches out to keep the doors of the elevator from closing in on where she stands. She looks up into eyes swirled with the colour of warm, melted chocolate, and her throat feels just the slightest bit drier than it had 5 seconds ago.

“Hey,” Nico Hischier’s voice is deep, scratchy like he’s just woken up - he probably has given how late the team got in last night - and trickles down in static currents from her ears to the base of Poppy’s back. 

She takes a short, startled step back, and gulps down the dryness in her throat before she gives a quick, “Hey,” in response. “Sorry, I’ll just take a second to unload all of this then the elevator is yours.”

“I’ll help,” Nico doesn’t phrase it as a question, as if knowing she would immediately decline. Not, let me help, or do you need help? He’ll just do it. “You get everything out and I’ll take it inside?”

She nods, despite the voice in the back of her head telling her that he’s only helping to get the job done quicker, and be able to get downstairs. She makes a conscious mental effort to drown it out while the two of them work in a silent tandem, her lifting the decorations into the hallway and him towing them down and into Jack’s apartment. 

She makes another conscious effort not to watch when he lifts things, the flex of his arms, the rippling muscles of his shoulders.

“Is that the last of it?” He asks, gesturing to the rolled up backdrop leaning on the side of the elevator and propping it open. 

“Yeah, but I got it,” Poppy gives a tight smile, lifting the roll but staying in place so the doors don’t close behind her and she doesn’t get stuck any longer in Nico’s presence on her own. “Thanks for helping.”

There used to be a time she couldn’t get enough of being around Nico, but those days are long gone.There is a permanent frigidity between them now - it’s been there since the summer just gone - and she’s overstimulated enough having spent her morning being Jack’s lackey while he no doubt slacks off with his brother grabbing brunch out. Her patience is beyond wearing thin, and so the last thing she needs is prolonged contact with the Devils captain where she will no doubt end up blowing up and making everything worse.

No one wants to ring in the new year with an almighty fallout.

She can’t help the frown that befalls her features when he makes no effort to occupy the elevator. He makes no effort to do anything, only looking at Poppy with a pensive pout. “Jack said I should come help you out.”

Of course he did, she thinks.

For the past four months, Jack Hughes has been acting like it’s his greater purpose in life to bring Nico and Poppy back together - like the demise of their friendship was the greatest personal inconvenience he has ever faced in his life. 

He has orchestrated one too many ‘accidental’ run-ins just like this one, and Poppy isn’t going to entertain his childish games any longer.

Nico doesn’t want to be her friend - she knows this for a fact - so Jack’s schemes are becoming a waste of everyone’s time.

“I’m alright, Nia’s on her way, you don’t have to hang around.”

Nia was due at Jack’s apartment two hours ago, but is no doubt still asleep after she was out last night for her pre-New Years celebrations. She’ll come over soon enough, though, and so Poppy doesn’t feel entirely deflated to turn down help she actually might currently need.

“I don’t mind waiting until she gets here.” Nico shrugs, again not giving her a natural opportunity to say no. He nods towards the apartment, gesturing for Poppy to start making her way over. “We both know she won’t take the stairs.”

Something about the way he so casually recalls information about her best friend plucks at her nerves, just a little, reflective of the part of their lives they had once shared with each other like it was nothing, but she shrugs it off, beginning to head towards the apartment with the roll tucked under her arm.

“I thought New Years was your favourite holiday?” He asks once they’re both inside, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him and somewhat trapping her in his presence echoing throughout the room. He doesn’t allow for any kind of prolonged silence between the two of them. If Nico Hischier is good at anything, it’s getting people to talk to him.

It’s not entirely that she doesn’t want to talk to him.

She does.

She’s wanted to talk to him every day for the past 4 months that they hadn’t talked - has been craving even mundane, casual conversation about the weather or traffic on the way into work, but now, as he yet again indifferently recollects such personal details about her as if they have remained close, she begins to feel uneasy.

“It is,” she gives a half-hearted, dismissive response. 

“Then why are you all grumpy?”

“I’m not.” She frowns, eyebrows furrowing and arms crossing as she turns to face him, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.  

She’s not trying to be difficult. Or maybe she is. She is in a particularly bad mood, but she had thought she’d done a good job at masking it. He’d been around her all of 2 minutes and saw right through her. 

“Jack said you’ve been off all morning.”

Like he cares, she thinks, her mood souring further at the fact he doesn’t see through her or even care at all, he’s here at the request of someone else. Following up on his duties as a captain and fulfilling a favour for one of his actual friends.

Embarrassment floods the pit of her stomach, and rears its ugly head in the form of her biting tone when she replies, “Jack’s been out all morning, how would he know?”

“He left you to do all this on your own?” Nico frowns, gesturing around to the half-way set up apartment. All that’s left to do aside from put up the decorations she’s just lugged up is set up the food and drinks, and Poppy figured she could leave that task to Jack so that it all remained fresher for longer. 

“I do this kind of thing for a living, remember?”

She cringes inwardly at the venom in her voice, turning away from him with a huff and missing the way his posture deflates. 

“You run events, Poppy, you’re not an assistant.” She can hear his heavy footsteps follow as she moves to set up the photo-booth area. “If I’d known he had you running after him all morning, I’d have-,”

“Called someone else to come help me so you could carry on avoiding me?”

She really is wound up now. Jack bailing on her to do God-knows what while she sets up his party had been one thing - there was a rational part of her brain that would tell her there would no doubt be hiccups in trying to source a bunch of DJ equipment in New Jersey on New Years Eve and he hadn’t actually bailed - and she could write off Nia’s disappearance due to the fact Poppy had sprung the plans on her last minute when she got home and called her last night, and she was bound to show up at some point. But Nico implying she is letting Jack walk all over her and needs anyone’s help to get through setting up a basic party is downright offensive. At least, in her stressed out state, it is - and so she can’t find it within herself to bite her tongue about their situation any longer.

If it drives him away and brings back her solitude to finish setting up without him occupying any precious mind space, so be it.

She almost forgets a key fact about the man before her. He doesn’t give up so easily.

“I’m not avoiding you.” He bites back, stepping into her space and helping her lift the backdrop roll to fit into the brackets she had set up earlier when the structure for the booth had arrived. “I would have come to help you, myself, Poppy.”

She wishes he would stop saying her name. 

4 months of radio silence and he’s thrown it at her like a dagger twice in the span of 30 seconds, the way his it rolls of his tongue in a low, smooth rasp scratching an itch she didn’t know she had, and now she can’t shake it. 

“I’m fine,” she huffs, reaching as far as she can and pressing until she hears the brackets click into place. At the brief noise, Nico catches on to what he needs to do at his side and manages to click it into place, barely lifting his arms. She moves into the middle of the structure, pulling at the velcro tab holding the roll together until it cascades to the floor and unveils the backdrop in its entirety. 

“What else needs doing?” He asks, his tone gentler this time.

“Nothing,” she mutters, winding the velcro in between her fingers to occupy them, before moving to pass him and make her way to the next task on her list. It’s only small things now. Arranging the balloons, setting up the arch, clearing table space for the equipment when Jack finally arrives home. “You can go, I’ve got it.”

“Mohn,” Nico sighs lowly, warm hand clasping around her forearm as she attempts to pass, holding her in place beside him. 

She really wishes he wouldn’t call her that.

If Jack is the prince of childish monikers that make her insides curl, Nico is the king of making her melt.

The nickname takes her straight back to the days before the waves of the summer break washed their friendship away. The times where he’d give her a ride home from the Prudential Center after work, whispering a, “Goodnight, Mohn,” in her ear as they hugged goodbye over the centre console in the front of his car. The times she’d meet up with the team to celebrate a win at their favourite bar, and he’d throw a never-casual, “Looking good, Mohn,” her way with an appreciative once-over. 

And it takes her even further back to when they had met, and she’d first offered her name.

“I’ll be interning with the content team, my name is Poppy,” she had offered a bright smile, reaching her hand out for him to shake, and making sure to keep a firm grip, just like her father had taught her, when he places his hand in hers. As she had done since she was a child, it was instinctual to follow up with, “Like the flower.”

“Mohnblume,” he had uttered, a smile so deep his cheeks dimpled into deep valleys.

“Huh?” She had been only a little bit caught out by the way his eyes shone, forgetting her manners as her head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Poppy flower, that’s what it is in my language.”

“Oh,” she had exclaimed, furrowed brows raising, a soft flush warming her cheeks, “Pretty!”

“Very.”

She had convinced herself for a long time that it was just his way of remembering - an aid in blurring the lines between the two languages that, especially back then, he often found himself mixed up in. And then, after a while, using it seemed to bring a protected familiarity between them - like an inside joke - and he’d use it less in front of others and more in the times it was just the two of them.

Years down the line from hearing it for the first time, and months down the line from hearing it for the last, her heart still thumps the same erratic beat at the sound.

Nico’s eyes still shine the same way when he looks down at her, and she fights every fibre of her being not to think too much about it. Or not to think about the touch of his hand on her arm, still holding her in place, the two of them closer than they have been in a long time, now.

It’s painfully easy to forget the months of distance after only seconds in his immediate company - to wipe from her memory the reason for her reticence and to push down the stubborn desire to push him away.

Her lips part to speak, and she doesn’t know if she’s about to turn him down or take him in, because another voice fills the apartment before any words get the chance to spill out.

“I come bearing gifts!” A sing-song lull breaks the silence as her best friend makes her presence known, entering the apartment with a drinks carrier in one hand, and a to-go back over the other wrist. 

Poppy steps away, shaking Nico’s grip from her arm, and turns to give Nia her full attention, hoping that she is either too hungover or too focused on herself to see or care about the obvious tension between her and the captain. She manages to bite her tongue from letting a Thank God slip out, and makes her way over to retrieve a much needed drink.

“They were out of chai so I got you an iced tea,” Nia holds out the drink to Poppy, and then the to go bag, “And half a cinnamon roll.”

“Half?”

“What? I was hungry too.” Nia scoffs, turning her attention to the brooding presence on the other side of the room. “Sorry, Nico, I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Would you have only eaten a third if you did?” He trials a joke, and when Poppy sneaks a peak back toward him, he looks apprehensive - scratching at the nape of his neck as if anticipating a bad reaction to his attempt at lighthearted humour.

“I’m sure Poppy doesn’t mind sharing if you’re starving,” Nia makes her way to the bar set up by the kitchen, placing her own cup down and shrugging off her purse beside it. 

“I wouldn’t dream of depriving her of half a cinnamon roll.” While his words are directed to her best friend, Nico looks at Poppy with a wistful smile, and she can practically see the memory of an old shared routine wash over his eyes. 

A weekly ritual of meeting by the PATH station close to both of their apartments on a free morning for a run, and then catching breakfast to go and grab a juice or a smoothie for the walk home - abandoned just like all the other little traditions they once had together.

Nico and Poppy had been close, before. Closer than she is to Jack, now - closer than she’s been to anyone else on the team, ever. So close that Nico knows her best friend enough to joke around with a familiar ease; so close that they’d even hung out as a three before, back when the girls shared an apartment in Poppy’s first year with the Devils, and he had been the only person that Nia had ever been happy to share her childhood friend with. 

And now, Poppy stands between them in a silence so uncomfortable she feels like the room is shaking.

She hasn’t talked to Nico in months, and hasn’t talked about him in just as long, but she knows Nia can read her like a book. 

The girls had grown up together - been through everything side by side, pinky fingers intertwined with an eternal promise of friendship and understanding. The demise of relationships, friendship group implosions, familial hardships, Nia’s goth phase, the time Poppy wrecked her hair dying it a vibrant cherry-red because her high school crush said Ariana Grande was hot - she still shudders thinking of how her hair glowed red in any direct light for years in the aftermath. Through middle school, high school, college, and all the way up until now, the pair know each other inside out.

So Poppy knows that Nia knows something happened.

Nia knows that Poppy hadn’t been able to go a day without bringing up the Swiss Captain before the summer, and then all of a sudden, she didn’t mention him at all. But she also knows her friend well enough and loves her too much not to have pressed on an open wound.

“It looks insane in here, Pop,” Nia gawks at the set up around her, every corner of the open plan layout of Jack’s large apartment decked out with decor and party amenities. “Do you guys go this hard every year?”

“Depends who’s hosting,” Nico shrugs, knowing when it had been his turn the year before, his event had been much more lowkey. Poppy had seen the pictures, had been sent an abundance of wish you were here snapchats around midnight from the Captain himself. Jack has a thing about his reputation that won’t let him even consider doing anything lowkey. “I forgot this would be your first year coming.”

“Oh, we’re not coming.” Poppy covers her mouth as she speaks around a bite of her food, unable to wait until she’d finished her mouthful due to the immediate urge to shut him down once again.

“You’re not?” He almost sounds disappointed. She doesn’t dare check for the furrow of his thick eyebrows or the pout of his lips. “Jack said he’d convinced you.”

A flash of anxiety shoots across her chest at the thought of him considering her attendance. Had he asked Jack? Had he mentioned her specifically - pushed him to convince her? Or had Jack just brought it up in an offhanded comment?

“I just agreed to get him off my back about it.” Her choice of words is only slightly intended to hurt. She and Nico were no longer friends - she hadn’t been the one to make that decision. Despite that fact, she tries to suppress the guilt clawing at the base of her throat at the wash of understanding that passes over his features. A solemn nod, gaze bouncing to the floor, lips pressed together. “We have plans with our friends.”

“Actually,” Nia’s voice captures both their attention swiftly - Poppy’s head whipping around in subtle alarm and Nico’s in anticipation. “Blake’s flight back from Arizona got cancelled, and Kelsey bailed on me last night because she got Covid of all things over Christmas.”

“What about Emma?” Poppy asks, hoping and praying their hermit friend has all of a sudden grown some stellar social skills and agreed to carry on their tradition for the sake of Poppy’s sanity.

“She double booked with her boyfriend, and he’s a huge drip I don’t really wanna hang out with those two all night.” God damn Emma and her tool of a boyfriend, Poppy thinks. “At least if we come here, we’re still close enough to your place we can make it back for fireworks on the roof.”

“We get a great view of them from this building,” Nico makes his presence known again, attempting to offer a solution. “If you didn’t want to walk back home so late.”

“See, Pop,” Nia claps her hands together with a grin, “We get to come to a cool party, don’t have to worry about creeps following us around all night, and still get to hold on to tradition. Win, win, win if you ask me!”

“Right,” Poppy sighs, knowing now that Nia has her heart set on the plan, there’s nothing she can do about it. Any persistence on her part would be too obvious. “Fine.”

“Awesome! What’s left to do?”

Poppy eyes Nico, knowing she’d told him only a few minutes ago that there was nothing left. “Just need to clear a table for the equipment Jack’s getting,”

“Which one?” Nia asks, making her way over with her iced tea in hand once Poppy points toward the table in the corner by the wall-to-wall window. “Are you helping or just standing around looking pretty?” 

Nico’s cheeks flush, a subtle warmth arising to his skin, and he gives a bashful chuckle.

Poppy feels a little nauseous, and it’s not from the sickly sweet half of a pastry she’s just forced down.

Nia’s eyes flicker between the two of them like she’s at a grand slam, and her lips twist to hide a smile.

“I actually need to head out,” he says, gaze darting quickly to Poppy before turning to her best friend, “I have some things I need to do before tonight. It was good to see you, though, Nia.”

Nia hums around the straw of her drink, giving a dismissive wave. “You too, see you later!”

Nico begins towards the door to the apartment, and just before he passes Poppy, he stops. He doesn’t reach for her this time, doesn’t step too close, but she can feel his presence regardless. And every hair on her body stands to attention like she’s been shocked by static when he says, lowly, “I’ll see you tonight, Mohn.”

She can only nod in response, not trusting her voice to speak, not trusting her eyes to look into his and be able to look away. 

After he departs, there are a few minutes of an ear-piercing silence. Poppy can hear every movement Nia makes, from the slurp of her drink, to the manner in which she throws things around with little care for where they end up. And louder than anything, she hears the violent thud of her heartbeat in her own ears.

“So,” Nia drags out when Poppy joins her at the almost empty table. “What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” Poppy and Nia have known each other fifteen years, she doesn’t know why she hopelessly thought that would work.

“Don’t play dumb,” Nia scoffs, “You and Captain Sexy,”

“There is no me and Nico,”

“But you know who I’m asking about,” she scoffs like she’s caught her best friend out, and then adds, with a suggestive wiggle of her brows, “So you do think he’s sexy?”

“What are you, twelve?” Poppy rolls her eyes, “He’s the only captain we’ve been in a room with, pretty obvious who you were referring to.”

“Admit it, Poppy, I saw the two of you when I came in, you totally wanna jump his bones, you have for as long as you’ve known him.”

“We’re not having this conversation, Ni.”

“The hell we aren’t!” Nia grabs her best friend by the shoulders, “I’ve bitten my tongue for months, Pop, watching you mope around and get all glum whenever work is brought up. I couldn’t get you to shut up about the guy before, what the hell happened between you two?”

“Nothing happened!”

“It totally did!” Nia can spy the aversion Poppy is attempting from miles off. “Don’t tell me you two finally hooked up and you didn’t fill me in,”

“He has a girlfriend, Nia.”

The way Poppy says it is like a period to a sentence. End of conversation. End of speculation. It doesn’t matter what they had been before, or what they are now. It doesn’t matter what she feels. There is no her and Nico because he is someone else’s. That’s the crux of it.

“Since when?” Nia frowns. 

“Since the summer just gone.”

And there it is. Understanding washes over the face of her best friend, and Poppy has to force herself to look away. 

He’d maybe been with her before that, too, but Poppy doesn’t actually know the entire timeline of it.

All she does know is that he’d come back from Switzerland with a drop dead gorgeous model hanging off of his arm, and he no longer had a use for Poppy in his life.

She knows other little bits, that she’d sourced from parts of conversations with others, or potential social media sleuthing that she will never admit to even with a gun to her head.

Talia, a model from somewhere close to home back in Europe, and Nico had hit it off at some festival when he’d gone back to Switzerland for his break. He’d very quickly and very clearly become smitten with her. Poppy had seen as much with her plastered all over his private stories and even posted on his private instagram feed.

By the time he came back to New Jersey for pre-season training camp, she was tagging along to team gatherings, he’d take her on his morning runs, grabbing breakfast together, he’d pick her up every day after work so he could no longer drive Poppy home, not that he’d ever attempted to explain any of that to her. She was at every home game, was his plus one to every event, and Poppy and Nico’s friendship had fizzled out so much that she sometimes feels like the whole thing had been a fantasy, or a figment of her imagination. Something she’d misunderstood, miscalculating every interaction they had ever shared and assuming they meant the same to him as they did to her.

They didn’t.

She doesn’t think any of it would have hurt her so much if he’d have let her down easy. A sorry for bailing on you the first time she’d text him if he wanted to meet up for their weekly run and he’d left her on read would have lessened the blow. He could have been straight up with an I just want to focus on my relationship right now. That would have been the decent thing to do, but he’d just dropped her, instead. Didn’t come around her office for lunch, didn’t text her after training when one of the guys said something stupid and he thought it might make her laugh. He’d cut her off from the intimate parts of his life - ghosted her, even - and all she could find it in herself to do anymore was miss him.

She’d made attempts to bring him around, at first. Tried speaking to him at work, tried texting, but after a few weeks of staring at the delivered sign at the bottom of their message thread, she had given up. It still taunts her every time she opens it up to delete the entire thing and move on like he clearly has - erasing all the inside jokes and times they had confided in one another like they meant ever meant anything in the first place.

She can count on her hand the amount of times they had spoken since the summer. Work related, entirely. A good game here and a have you seen whoever? there. Today is the first indication in months that they had ever been anything more than two people who worked in the same organisation. Friends of friends, co-workers, barely acquaintances.

Not people who know each other’s favourite holidays and are chummy with each other’s friends.

“I’m sorry, Poppy,” Nia frowns, “I didn’t know.”

“Doesn’t matter,�� she shrugs, attempting nonchalance despite the stinging in the back of her throat. “Let’s finish here so we can go get ready.”

Nico

Nico Hischier isn’t the biggest fan of New Years Eve. He isn’t really a fan of the festive period, at all. He isn’t a scrooge by any means. He can appreciate the coming together of people and the celebration of the year just gone, and the one starting fresh - but ever since he moved from Switzerland and started his career in the NHL, the holiday period has felt unnecessarily long.

His schedule is jam packed - games up until the 23rd, starting again after Christmas on the 27th, and again after New Years on the 3rd - and there aren’t enough consecutive days together to celebrate in the way others get to do this time of year. 

He knows he has to make do with the fact - a small price to pay for living his dream - and his teammates help, all sharing in their sacrifices and trying to make the best out of a bad deal. But he can’t help but feel a lack. A lack of tradition, a lack of family being around, a lack of normalcy.

He remembers the holidays as a child, spending time at home with his parents and his siblings, having two weeks at home for his winter break and getting to spend his days doing whatever he pleased. As someone who moved overseas at such a young age, he looks back on those times fondly. 

But now, living at least 8 hours away from the rest of his family, this time of year only serves to remind him of the isolation that creeps up on him like a bad cold.

It starts at the beginning of the month, the sniffly nose period of the bug, when chatter starts around who’s doing what for Christmas. Decorations go up, parties are planned, names are passed around in a hat for Secret Santa, and discussions begin around who is managing to go where. 

Next comes the tickle in his throat - the last game before Christmas, where the team all depart and separate with temporary goodbyes as those who have family nearby all get to go home - their parents arranging home cooked extravaganza meals, reuniting with their siblings, exchanging gifts - and Nico, for the 5th year running, feels like a bit part in someone else’s festivities as he and a few of the other European guys all bustle into the dining room of whoever is willing to accommodate them for the day. 

Then comes the rest, the sneezing, the coughing, the lethargy, in the period between Christmas and New Years, when everyone is reeling off the back of their celebrations and looking forward to ringing in the next year with a big party. 

Nico had thought this year might have been better. He had been in a relationship, there were parts of the holidays he could tweak and adopt into his circumstances - exchanging gifts with a loved one, bringing her along to Christmas dinner at Jesper and Nicole’s place, and not having to feel like a third wheel or like he had to shrink to fit at the kiddie’s table. 

He’d even tried to start his own holiday traditions with Talia, his girlfriend. He’d booked an overnight stay at a fancy hotel on the Upper East Side in the middle in the month on one of the rare occasions he’d had two consecutive days with no game or other commitments - despite how hectic his schedule had been. He’d taken her Christmas shopping down Fifth Avenue like she’d talked so much about how she’d wanted to do ever since she came out to New Jersey with him after the summer. He’d taken her ice skating, away from the Rock so that it didn’t feel like work, they had bought and decorated the tree in his apartment together, he’d brought her along to every team holiday event.

And on the day of their home game against Anaheim on the 17th, just a few days after their trip into Manhattan, in the middle of the third period, she had unceremoniously dumped him with an I’m just not feeling this anymore. Over text. As she was already at the airport preparing to fly back to Munich to spend the holidays with her family. He had slumped into his locker after their brutal 5-1 defeat and couldn’t believe what he was reading.

Nico wanted to be angry. As he read the text, he could picture any other person throwing and smashing things. Calling her up and demanding an explanation - because it was clear she hadn’t been feeling it for longer than she let on, considering she was about to board a no doubt fully booked flight across the Atlantic in the eleventh hour. 

But there was too large of a part of him that just felt relieved.

Talia was great.

He had met her properly in the summer when he had gone home to Switzerland, but they’d had mutual friends long before. He’d liked a couple of her instagram pictures here, she had responded to a few of his stories there, and then they had been formally introduced at a friend’s party.

Things with her were easy, at first. Nico wasn’t looking for anything serious, and she had ticked all of the right boxes. She was good company, always down to do whatever he was doing with whoever he wanted to do it with. She recognised that summer was the only time of the year he truly had to himself, and she let him take the reins on how he wanted to spend it.

She would go on hikes with him, would lounge around in the sun if wanted, go to parties, go to festivals, join him on little weekend trips to Ibiza or Mallorca. And she was a great release when his training had picked up. She would work around his schedule. He’d invite her round to his apartment and he had enjoyed spending time doing nothing with her after a long day at the gym or at the rink.

She had slotted so perfectly into that version of his life that he gave very little thought into inviting her into the rest of it. 

She was beautiful, sociable, charismatic - and then she became hard work.

When summer was over, and he invited her to spend some time back in New Jersey, she didn’t quite grasp how much things would need to change. She constantly wanted to have plans. Wanted to go to parties, wanted to go out, be around other people, take little trips - and he had tried to accommodate her the best he could, but he didn’t have the time for himself, let alone for another person, to be doing things all the time. He had tried to tell her as much, and she said she was okay with it, said as long as he was present with her, she could settle for not doing the things they had in the summer, but she expected too much from him. 

She wanted Nico’s attention at all hours of the day, weaving herself into every aspect of his routine. He wanted to run? She would go with him, could really use the fresh air. He wanted to do some solo training at the gym? She had been meaning to work on her lifting. He couldn’t go to the grocery store - could barely even go to work without her wanting to be there. His phone would blow up whenever they were apart, and if he didn’t text her back straight away, she’d become cold - making him feel guilty and grovel for her forgiveness.

Talia was fun, until she wasn’t. Until she was exhausting, and Nico couldn’t keep up with her any longer. 

She didn’t give him the grace to have an off day. He was tired, he was struggling, and when the season kicked into full swing, and the team’s schedule was packed, he became unable to juggle it all.

His work was suffering, his star was dimming, his body ached and his performance dipped - both in his professional and personal life. 

And so, after the detonation of their relationship, a break up text felt a little like a wake up call.

Talia had contributed so much to the deterioration of normalcy in his life, that Nico was still trying to piece back together his routine 2 weeks later. 

His holiday period this year had been spent in a haze - and it wasn’t for the reason everyone thought. He had caught the pitiful glances sent his way over the dinner table at Christmas, had seen the way the couples in the room tried to spare him of their PDA whenever he was around, and he could have told them it was okay. He was okay. But there was a large part of him that was trying to figure that out, still.

He had known he wasn’t heartbroken. He wasn’t shooting off texts to Talia and begging for her to come back. He’d already boxed up what little belongings she had left behind and was going to ship them internationally after the New Year had passed. He had deleted, not archived, all their photos on his private socials, and had even deleted most of them from his phone. He wasn’t in pieces over the fact she had ended things.

But he knew something still wasn’t right.

At first, he had thought it was work related. Their worst week of the season had happened just before Christmas - 3 losses at home in the span of 5 days - and he thought that could be the reason for his slump. Then, they won against Detroit and he still felt off.

Then, he thought he had been anxious about Christmas - about showing up on his own, having to explain his breakup to everyone not quite caught up on the news yet, and he would have to wallow in that same old feeling of watching everyone else enjoy the holidays. But Jesper and Nicole had thrown together a pretty nice day for the guys. The food was great, the company was great, and he’d gone back to his apartment that night with a feeling of relief - like he’d been dreading something for so long only for him to have genuinely enjoyed himself.

And finally, as if being thrust into a freezing cold ice bath, realisation had washed over him on the morning of the team’s final home game of the year against Columbus. 

He had been walking through the back offices of the Prudential Centre when he had stumbled upon a conversation, and had heard Poppy Jensen’s voice for the first time in what felt like forever.

“I’m just kinda beat, to be honest, J,” she had said in response to a question Nico hadn’t caught. He had thought no one would be around, most of the Foundation staff having the week off, and hadn’t expected to come across anyone on his venture to the best vending machine in the building. The Foundation offices were often frequented by kids, and had an assortment of candies throughout their machines instead of the protein bars or rice cakes elsewhere in the staff areas. At the sound of her voice, he had come to an immediate halt, peaking around the corner where he could see into her office. She was moving some things into a box on her desk and Jack Hughes was reclining in the chair in front of it that once had been claimed by Nico as his own. “I’m all social interaction-ed out, the holidays have kinda beat me to a pulp, I don’t think I could keep up with you guys, I’m sorry.”

Nico watches as she swats at his feet when he tries to kick them up onto her desk, and can’t quite see the crease between her brows as she frowns at their mutual friend, but can remember how it used to form all the same. “You’re such a bullshitter,” Jack had scoffed, clearly pre-empting the stapler Poppy would throw at him, managing to catch it with ease. 

“You can’t call me a bullshitter in my own office,” she gawked, “You don’t see me marching out onto the ice and calling you an attention whore.”

Jack had thrown the stapler straight back. She caught it all the same, and dropped it into the box.

“You haven’t hung out with us in forever!”

“We hung out at the Toy Drive like 2 weeks ago!” There had been two toy drive events organised by the Foundation in different parts of town, and, as he had long become accustomed to, Nico had been put on the one separate to the event Poppy was working. It had been fun, but when he’d checked the social posts the next day and seen the pictures posted of the other team - all smiles between them, a slightly blurry Poppy in the near background of all of Jack’s pictures to indicate how close they had been throughout the event - he had felt like he’d missed out on something.

“That was work, it doesn’t count, Popsicle.” Nico could hear the roll of Jack’s eyes.

“Yeah, well some of us don’t consider helping underprivileged children and spreading Christmas spirit ‘work’, Jack.” Poppy had used air quotes to emphasise her sarcasm, and a fond warmth had spread throughout Nico’s chest at hearing her hold her own against someone as brazenly wise as Jack Hughes. “I thought we were hanging out, having fun, improving our community together. You should really check your ego!”

“I sh-,” Jack had managed to cut himself off, no doubt realising how loud he had gotten. “You’re the one who’s been avoiding the whole team all year, ‘cause you’re hung up on-,”

The door to Poppy’s office had slammed closed before Nico had a chance to hear the end of his teammate’s sentence. Their voices had been muffled after that, and shame had started to creep up on Nico at the fact he’d been eavesdropping on a private conversation.

He’d foregone the snacks he originally snuck off in search of, and returned back to the locker room to get ready for his practice skate. 

For the first time in a long time, when Jack arrived and threw himself down on the bench beside him, Nico had wanted him to bring her up.

In the months prior, he would freeze up at the mention of Poppy Jensen, not wanting to face the reality of his dwindling connection to someone who had once been such a huge part of his life. He had other focuses - namely, Talia - and reflecting on what had once been between the two of them did not serve any kind of good purpose. It opened him up to uncomfortable conversations that he wasn’t willing to have, uncomfortable realisations he couldn’t quite come to terms with, and he had been too comfortable avoiding any kind of confrontation around it.

But in the short time between witnessing the conversation between Jack and Poppy, and getting ready for the team’s morning practice, too many questions had been swirling around his mind, and he needed answers.

Why was Poppy packing up her desk?

Why was she avoiding hanging out with the team?

What was she so hung up on? Had something happened?

He’d spent so long avoiding even thinking about her, that he all of a sudden felt like he’d missed everything.

Luckily for him, Jack Hughes needed little to no prompting for his blabbermouth nature to prevail.

“You know, for someone who’s literal job it is to lead us as a Captain, you’ve done terribly at warning me just how stressful this whole New Years thing is,” Jack had huffed as he began changing into his practice gear.

“I did nothing but warn you,” Nico responded, “You called me Mr Grumpy Pants and told me I was just afraid your party was gonna be better than mine.”

“Yeah, well, you should have insisted, it’s stressing me out.”

“You’ll be fine,” Nico scoffed, running a hand through the mess of his hair and leaning back into his locker. He watched Jack’s jittery movements as he shrugged on his pads, and felt the need to reassure his friend. “Everyone’s looking forward to it. As long as there’s plenty to drink and decent music, people will have a good time.”

“Not everyone,” Jack grumbled, “I can’t even get Poppy to come and she loves parties.”

So that’s what they had been talking about. 

Poppy did love parties, but Nico couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her at one. 

“Poppy has a New Years ritual, she didn’t come to mine, either, I wouldn’t beat yourself up about it.” Nico shrugged, despite the wave of a memory that washed over him of him doing exactly that when she hadn’t showed up last year. He’d had to restrain himself from leaving his own party - spent the night texting her updates on what everyone had been doing, snap-chatting her pictures in the hopes it would entice her the few blocks over from her apartment building. He’d only been consoled by the text he’d received just after the clock had struck midnight, settling for the pride in knowing he had been one of the first to get a Happy New Years message from her - knowing it wasn’t just a mass text she would have copy-and-pasted to everyone else, and had been personalised to him with a bunch of perfectly curated emojis and exclamation marks after his name.

Nico didn’t see Jack’s stiffened posture at the way he had so nonchalantly mentioned her for the first time in forever. Didn’t see the side eye, or the pensive twist of his mouth as he carefully considered his next words like he was about to step through a minefield.

“I’m gonna keep trying,” he had sat back down on the bench beside Nico to put on his skates, “I’m definitely her favourite, she’s been helping me organise the whole thing, I don’t think it will take much to convince her.”

Nico tried not to show any kind of reaction to Jack being Poppy’s favourite, or at the thought of how much time they must be spending together to organise such an event. A part of him knew he was only saying it to rattle him. “Cutting it a little fine, aren’t you? New Years is in a couple days, and the guys from the Foundation aren’t even around this week, are they?”

“She’s covering someone on content until January, I said I’d drive her home after the game and me and Lukey can double down on it. And if we can’t get it done tonight, she’s coming on the road with us at the end of the week. I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Oh,” Nico was thankful for how Jack had leaned over to tie his skates up, because he wasn’t entirely sure he’d been able to mask whatever had flooded over him at the revelation that his teammate would be driving Poppy home.

That was his thing. He was pretty sure his passenger seat was still positioned to her liking despite how long it had been since she’d sat in it. He was still working his way through the stash of smiley face air fresheners she had stashed in his glove compartment. He still felt like he was forgetting something every time he left the parking lot and she wasn’t sat beside him, chatting his ear off about some of the kids she had worked with in the day.

“Maybe you should ask her?”

Nico’s eyes shot over to meet Jack’s in alarm. “Me?”

“Yeah, the more people that ask, the more she might feel like she’s missing out. Flash her those cute dimples, how could she possibly say no?”

“I think I’m the last person that’s gonna convince Poppy to come, Jack.” Nico had tried to be nonchalant about it, but he had come across so painfully uncomfortable that he could feel the hair on his arms stand, not liking the ache that spread through his chest at the statement. 

There was once upon a time that cheering Poppy Jensen up had been a large part of his routine. Even small acts, like bringing her a coffee on a busy day, where he knew she wouldn’t take a break to go get one herself, and knew how much she disliked the stuff from the pot in her office. Sending her texts from across the room when there were big organisation meetings and he could see her chewing at her fingernails at the vast amounts of information being spewed about. Tagging her in cute animal videos he’d come across on TikTok when he was across the country on a roadie and on a different timezone - she’d wake up to them sometimes, and he’d wake up to her response.

“Right, I forgot you two aren’t friends anymore.”

“Is that what she said?” Nico had swallowed down the hurt at the thought of her coming to that conclusion - vocalising it to someone and finalising the decision before he had any chance to do anything about it.

He couldn’t really blame her, though - he’d had plenty of chances.

Nico could feel himself beginning to spiral, words swirling around his head like a tornado of realisation and guilt. 

Aren’t friends anymore.

Avoiding the whole team all year.

Jack is driving her home.

He’s her favourite.

Aren’t friends anymore.

Shit.

He didn’t even take in Jack’s response to his question. As much as he wanted to know the answer, he couldn’t bear to hear it. 

Nico couldn’t face up to what he had truly lost.

It wasn’t his girlfriend of five months, who had dumped him over text during the most wonderful time of the year. It wasn’t a few games, that, sure, it had sucked that they had been beat, but in retrospect, the team had had a pretty decent start to the season, and shouldn’t have had his back up that much. 

Nico had lost someone who had, at one point, been the most important person in his life. 

The person he would usually have gone to to help him through the other stuff - the breakups, the losses, the stress, the anxiety - the crushing weight that had been pressing down on his chest since he had left for Switzerland at the beginning of summer. 

Nico and Poppy used to work around each other like a beautifully choreographed, well-rehearsed dance. She always knew when he was overwhelmed or exhausted, he always knew when she was stressed or upset, and they both knew how to pick the other back up. 

They hadn’t even fallen out of sync when they’d stopped talking to each other, only this time, they were moving around each other. If Nico entered a room, Poppy would leave. If she knew he was going to be at a team party, she’d make up an excuse not to go. If someone mentioned Poppy in casual conversation, Nico would quickly change the subject. All of it had been subconscious, on his part, at least.

It had been so easy after such a prolonged distance between the two of them to move when she pushed, to watch when she ran, like he had grown into his part in their relationship akin to repelling magnets, always moving away from one another.

It had been so easy that he hadn’t even really realised what was happening - lost and handicapped by a thick fog clouding his thoughts and his judgement. He’d let their once blooming friendship wither and die, and for what?

As he had watched Jack waddle out of the locker room for their practice session, muttering a dismissive, “Whatever, I’ll figure it out,” to his Captain, it was like he had been awakened into full consciousness. 

Nico had thought that his turmoil had started with the holiday period. Had thought the ache of homesickness had swirled in with the grief that came with the loss of his relationship, and the shame his poor performances on the ice had thrown upon him. But it had started long before that. He hadn’t been himself since he’d returned from his summer break. Before that, even.

Without realising that he had lost her, Nico had spent the last few months subconsciously mourning his friendship with Poppy - the crushing weight of that grief consuming him to a point that he felt lost with no way out, and had expressed it in a bunch of misguided ways.

He reached into his bag to retrieve where he had stashed his cellphone, scrolling through his Messages app until he stumbled across Poppy’s name. The last text had been sent in September, by her, and he had never responded - had never even opened it, the blue dot to the left of their message thread taunting him with chirps of how awful he had been to ignore it.

Poppy: Hey, can we talk? I miss you.

How late is too late to reply to a text like that? He could only hope she still felt the same way.

Turns out, 4 months might be too late.

Nico has drafted an embarrassing amount of messages to Poppy over the days since that conversation in the locker room.

His notes app has a whole folder dedicated to her. Bullet pointed lists, random memories that made him think of her, structured essays that laid out a timeline of their friendship, and all the mistakes he would need to beg for her forgiveness for. 

He’d tried sending a message when he had got back to his apartment after the game against Columbus, feeling a rush of confidence from the adrenaline of their OT win, his high had soon dwindled when he was alone. He sat staring at all the different iterations of an apology he could offer, and had even chickened out of the final draft of a very simple but hopefully effective, ‘Hey.’

He knew he was overthinking it. A conversation starter would at the very least open the door for the apology, and all he needed to do was talk to her in some way - but that turned out to be easier said than done.

She wasn’t in her office when he’d gone to seek her out at work the next day, and when he realised she was probably in the content and media offices, he felt like he would be cornering her if he sought her out in front of anyone else. When the weight of how far removed they now were from each other’s lives dawned on him, a text felt too informal, and so the paragraphs sat untouched in his notes. The weather hadn’t been too great, so he couldn’t try and intercept her on the running route he knew all too well, and even attempting to orchestrate a seemingly random encounter outside of work seemed too creepy so stopping by the cafe around the corner from her apartment in the hopes she’d be there grabbing a latte was off the cards. 

He’d seen her on the plane to Ottawa, having to pass her seat to get to the team section at the back, but he had a few people boarding behind him, and she had her eyes cast toward her cell, headphones on and typing intently to somebody, he couldn’t even offer her a friendly smile to try and warm her up to the possibility of a conversation.

Between their win against the Senators, and their loss against the Bruins the next day, there wasn’t much time, or energy, really, to seek her out, and so he’d had to press the breaks, but as they flew back to New Jersey from Boston, a panic had started to swirl within his chest.

Nico knew he couldn’t enter a new year without clearing the air, and so time was well and truly running out. He again had seen her on the plane, and when he had plucked up the courage to get up and go sit with her, Jack had beaten him to it. When the plane had landed, and the team bus had driven them all back to the Rock, the Hughes brothers had both walked her to her car to see her off for the evening. 

For someone who had been not-so-subtly trying to initiate a reunion between Nico and Poppy for so long, Jack Hughes sure knew how to get in the way. But, he was easy to forgive - especially when Nico had woken up to his texts late this morning.

Jack: need ur help

Jack: urgently

Jack: wake up dude

Nico: I’m not driving anywhere for you

Jack: not asking u to

Jack: u will like this I promise 😌

Nico: what do you want?

Jack: need u to keep Poppy company

Jack: she’s in my apartment and she seemed off when she got here

Jack: been on her own for a few hours

Jack: so she’s grumpy 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻 👹👹

Nico: doubt I can change the grumpy part

Nico: especially if you’ve left her alone for hours

Jack: don’t need to

Jack: ur a grump too

Jack: will cancel each other out 👍🏻👍🏻😇😇

Jack: u going down or no?

Nico: fine

Jack: I’ll be back in 1 hr :)

Jack: love u cap 😚

Nico: 🙄

And that was how Nico had found himself trudging down to Jack’s apartment, hopeful at the dream of a bridged gap between him and Poppy, and quickly disappointed by the reality.

She had been cold, rightfully so, and had made it clear as day she didn’t want anything to do with him. She had shrunk into herself, backing away from him any time he got too close,  defecting to a state of avoidance - gaze dropping to the floor, declining his offers to help her, making assumptions she was in his way, as if the thought of him seeking her out had become an entirely alien concept.

He couldn’t blame her for how she was being with him. It had been his fault things had collapsed between them - he’d come to that conclusion with the vast amounts of evidence piled up in his phone storage the past couple of days, but it didn’t make it hurt any less to see her like this - or to feel an actual, tangible resistance when he had tried to insist on being around. She didn’t want him around, that much was obvious, and it was starting to feel like it was to late to fix what he had so royally screwed up between the two of them. 

The once well-oiled machine that was their friendship was now clunky, clattering, dying a slow death with parts that were now obsolete.

But that didn’t change how much he wanted it to work. His parents had once told him when he was growing up that nothing was beyond repair, and if he wanted something fixed enough, he would figure out a way.

They had been talking about a model train he, his father and his brother had made when he was very young. The company that made the sets had gone bust, and they no longer sold the individual parts anymore - so when his sister had stumbled over something in the garage back home, knocked a box, and the once pristine collectable train had tumbled out and ended up cracked and chipped, he had been heartbroken. He and Nina had filled in the chips with wood filler, and touched it up with her nail polish, and it wasn’t the same but in a way it was better - a new sentiment attached with a memory of bonding with his sibling. 

The same thing could apply to his friendship with Poppy. Maybe they couldn’t go back to what they were - maybe they could be better.

And, when Poppy had made one too many attempts to push him away - when he had taken a hold of her after she had tried to move past him, dismissing him and his desire to help her, once again - a fire reignited within him. A spark of hope flickered at the familiarity that had flashed across her face as he referred to her in an endearment he hadn’t let himself use in so long.

In that moment - hand wrapped around her arm, just above her elbow, the skin soft and warm, close enough to smell the all too familiar cloud of vanilla-coconut scent that followed her, and her eyes locked on his - he had seen a crack in her armour.

He had seen an element of want - wanting to reconcile, wanting to fix things, wanting him in her life in the way he had been those months ago - and in a mirror of his own emotions, he had seen trepidation.

They wanted the same things, had the same fears, had the same end goal.

And when the unforeseen interruption of her best friend arriving startled her back into her withdrawn persona, he had realised something else.

Nia’s contrasting attitude toward Nico - open, friendly, familiar - had opened his eyes to the fact that Poppy hadn’t told her best friend about the demise of her friendship with Nico. 

And that, as much as it needed unpacking entirely, was Nico’s backdoor entry into the high security vault of Poppy’s good graces. 

Thankfully for him, Nia’s obliviousness to their tension had worked entirely in his favour. He tried not to look too much into Poppy’s attempted avoidance of spending the evening in his presence, despite her other plans falling apart. Tried to shoulder the blows of her sly digs at them not being friends anymore. Tried to ignore the pang in his heart at Poppy’s best friend being the one to throw flirty jibes his way, and not her. 

A determination had begun to brew within him - swirling, bubbling, steaming - and it was going to push him to finally bridge the gap he had forced between them.

His first success was her agreeing to come to the party, and he could easily build on that momentum.

Nico and Poppy were going to be friends again by midnight, he would figure out a way.

> Chapter One

[vivid-adventurer]

I binge watched a playthrough of Peach Showtime and man she has so many cute fits I had to draw ALL of them

•

•

•

I also will be selling these as stickers starting mid-May so 👀 keep ya eyes peeled on my kofi perhaps?

[raayllum]

like it really has been a crazy experience watching a theory made pre S4 and was built on so many assumptions such as

Aaravos wants the Key of Aaravos back

It is specifically tied to Callum playing into his hands

If the plot ever put Callum in a situation where his loved ones, specifically Rayla, were on the line, he'd do dark magic again

The plot will engineer a situation where Callum is forced to choose between Rayla and the greater good

all come into being one by one as arc 2 has gone on. whether the theory will come fully to fruition plot or characterization wise remains to be seen, but the fact that we've gotten this far and it's now generally predicted / fandom consensus that a "Rayla vs the greater good" conflict is happening next season, regardless of what Callum actually ends up choosing (her, self-sacrifice to trolley that problem, or another positive third path of some kind), is Fucking Crazy to me. theory of all time

[hailsatanacab]

Your Favourite Author's Favourite Fic

in no way is this me sneakily trying to get fic recs out of people, but here's my new tag game!

Rules! When tagged, reblog with the fic you've written that you love the most

Not the fic with the most kudos, or the most comments, or the most hits, but the fic that you're the most proud of. I'm talking about the story that kept you up at night, the one that you still think about, the one that you wish more people would read

So, it's time to show off! I strongly encourage - in fact, I demand - that you give yourself some compliments, a well-deserved pat on the back, and tell us all the reasons why it's your favourite!

Then tag five people and make them go through it, too 🥰🩷

I'll tag @wolfjackle, @tourettesdog, @gilbirda, @die-erlkonigin6083, and @thewritingowl to get us started, please and thank you!!

[r0semultiverse]

Hey, Jake & Jack fans, is this anything?

Both men imprisoned (literal & metaphorical).

Both offered an out from their current predicament by an outside force (arguably in the case of Brain Ghost Dirk).

Both have loose ties to Lord English visually.

Yellow initial glow & Gamzee involvement too.

Sometimes a guy just needs to explode (same pose too).

Both dual wielding weapons.

That same said weapon type (for Jack Noir) having killed Jane Crocker.

It's really looking like Jake is going to do her in.

I would also like to point out that we've had interactions involving these three (Jane, Jake, and Brain Ghost Dirk) before that consisted of similar topics & themes.

Brain Ghost Dirk implying that he's just there as moral support, a manifestation of Jake's powers, and as a coping mechanism. Jane also talking about ruling an empire with him while talking down to him, similar to how she saw and/or still sees him in Beyond Canon's Candy timeline. Jake also being uncertain about doing anything to harm her despite all the bad things she's doing.

Brain Ghost Dirk going away tells us that Jake's more hopeful than he's ever been. This is the moment where he is the most sure of his decisions than he's ever been in his life, whatever those decisions may be in regards to Jane and how to handle this situation.

He is probably going to shoot Jane down, quite literally. I would also argue that after all this time, the lad isn't beating the Lord English allegations. We might as well have a parallel of him killing Jane much like how Jack Noir killed her right before he got possessed by Lil Cal & given some of Lord English's immense power.

Alternatively maybe we'll get to see what the power of hope or hope bullets can do to someone whose done so much wrong & come so far off the deep end in terms of moral wrongdoings. Maybe with every shot that hits her, she'll begin to be swayed to the side of good & start to self-reflect.

I'm still not fully convinced that Gamzee actually cured Tavros' peanut allergy, I mean just look at the panel.

This could absolutely be interpreted as Jake injecting his hope power into the epipen and by proxy injecting both his power & the epipen into his son! If younger Jake is strong enough to defeat Grimbark Jade, then adult Jake might just be strong enough to defeat a peanut allergy is all I'm saying! In fact, now that I'm rambling about it, this seems like the more likely outcome is Jake's hope power swaying or (in the very least) confusing Jane mid-fight. Hope bullets, they would look cool & would be pretty strong!

The power of believing in others & wanting things to change can be a strong tool indeed, Mister English.

If there's one person who still believes in changing Jane's mind (or bringing her back to proper canonicity depending on how you interpret the recent lore), it would be Jake English, the believer.

Okay, maybe this is something! Tally ho!

[dootznbootz]

Huge difference between "He's just some guy (neutral)" and "He's just some guy (affectionate)".

[hulloitsdani]

SHARENA WEEK DAY 6!!!!

SHES DONE!!!!! WHOOOO!!!!

Took me a minute to finally knock this one out and I'm honestly restraining myself from going crazy on the shading and background. But that's eight characters in a style I don't normally work in. I already over estimated the time this would take. I'm calling it here for my sanity.

But with that out of the way, I wanted to thank everyone for the support during Sharena Week!! And an even bigger thank you for the people who made stuff for it! I'm putting it all your art in my pocket. I am running away with it. I am intently staring at it once I have escaped the authorities.

This has been very fun! Big thank you for @sharenaweek / @sharenalovemail for hosting. Please please please go check out everything she's doing. Stare at 'em with your eyes!

And with that I'm gonna back into hibernation! See you once Kiran Fire Emblem inevitably takes over my brain again :D

[ineed-to-sleep]

I'm still working on this btw. Chipping away at it one little panel at a time 🥲

[alfhildr-the-word-weaver]

Shoutout to Long Face by the Vampire Lestat for being an actual real song that actually made it onto my top 100 songs this year btw. Do you think Lestat will make one of those little "thank you fans" videos to thank all of us who streamed his music?

[askthekirbysquad]

Tragically, Tumblr doesn't allow enough options to include every game, so Dream Land 1 was removed </3 (and tragically I couldn't include an option for the spinoffs either </3 )

[egginfroggin]

*yeets this and runs*

My hand regrets my decision to try for more realistic wings, frankly

Transcriptions:

Mabel Pines - Steller's Jay

Dipper Pines - Blue Jay

fledglings

can't quite fly yet

wing's aren't adult-sized yet

Dipper often forgets to preen

Mabel likes to put glitter in her wings (and Dipper's, when possible)

Dipper collects his primaries to make quill pens

Mabel collects their feathers for crafting

Yeah so I'm just gonna drop this here and uhhhhh run, thanks for checking this, and I hope you have a good day

(program: krita; time taken: about 1 hr 45 minutes)

[ex0rin]

Frank Grillo | Fightworld Thailand: Fortunate Son

[nny11writes]

I got a long ass analysis or whatever on how Shadow Weaver is nuanced and underappreciated that I lost the thread on multiple times. Don't even know it this'll fit in a tumblr post but below the cut if it does.

Shadow Weaver’s story is about many things, but I think the one most often misunderstood is her addiction. A lot of fandom recognizes that she has an addiction, but not what that actually means, not what that entails. Weaver is one of the show’s antagonists, no bones about that, but she is also a complex, nuanced, morally grey character and people tend to forget that to the disservice of her as a character.

I’m tired of that, so let’s get into this.

First off, Light Spinner was not an abuser or horrible person, I’m sorry y’all I think she was probably in her early to mid-20’s, a social idiot, and felt like Micah’s older sister. I think she was too young and inexperienced for the position she held at Mystacor, but that she could’ve grown into it beautifully if not for the war.

Light Spinner was self centered, she’s selfish. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, although Shadow Weaver certainly takes that into the next level being an ego maniac later on. She was self centered and obsessed with the idea that is she was powerful and strong, she could stop this war. She single handedly could do it with the right help and, as such, she felt responsible for ending the war too. That made her obsession grow wildly and Light Spinner then made a mistake in good faith.

I think when she touched that unbridled magical power without the safeties she needed, that Weaver got her first taste of what would become her drug.

But first, let’s touch on a few things.

Tell me, when you read that paragraph about Spinner’s obsession… did that ring any bells? Remind you of anyone? Because I’ll tell you who Light Spinner reminded me of. A combination of Glimmer, Catra, and Adora. Gosh, I do love me a good book end and parallel, and Light Spinner is one that we often overlook.

Now we’re heading into a bit of headcanon territory here, so stick with me for a moment.

HC1: Every creature and person on Etheria has a baseline level of magic, and without that magic they will die.

HC2: The failed spell of obtainment drained Light Spinner of all her magic, and in a desperate attempt to survive she was able to turn it on other powerful magic users. Low level demonic pact, she sacrificed them to have enough magic left in her to survive.

Light Spinner is riding a manic euphoria from her first hit of a strong drug, which just happens to be some of the purest most mind meltingly power drug to ever exist, and is absolutely on a power trip at this point. She SURVIVED dying! She has the power, so much power! She was only ever held back here, people here didn’t understand, and neither did she but she does now! She understands now that THIS FEELING, oh this feeling!! She is like a god, she can do anything ANYTHING- but not if she stays here. Oh no, no, no, not by staying here. She’s killed people to survive, terrible but necessary, but no one will accept her now because they barely tolerated her before. So she’ll go somewhere where her power- her VISIONS are appreciated, are more than tolerated- she will be a fucking QUEEN and if they won’t join her they will suffer the consequences. God damn she is HIGH AS FUCK!

And she’s, like, halfish right? She did survive death, she does have an ungodly amount of power but it’s very temporary and also killing her. She was held back but for good reason, there were people who loved her, cared about her, valued her, understood her who she is abandoning now. She’s not a god, again, temporary cosmic powers with a very itty bitty living space. She did kill to survive, and the debate on the ethics of that will go round and round. Light Spinner had a power fantasy and she thinks it’s become reality, so she’s a bit off the deep end.

Shadow Weaver goes to the Horde. I like to envision that wherever she went, the natural flora around her died, it’s magic sucked up into the endless black hole inside her. She gets there, shows what she has done, promises things she cannot fully keep, and asks Hordak to give her the Black Garnet. Something that he has to know by now he cannot control or trust the princess family with, so it’s basically an annoying stone to him, sure ya weirdo you can have it. Fuck up and I’ll kill you though.

Shadow Weaver, probably: Ah hell yeah!

She gets a runestone and as the magic she absorbed starts to really fade- so does the euphoric high. She is feeling more and more depressed, hazy, numb, bad… guilty. Ashamed. But Shadow Weaver is powerful and she doesn’t want to feel bad, she doesn’t want to look at what she’s done to survive, she doesn’t want to confront what she’s done wrong. (Remind you of anyone, yet again?) So she doesn’t. She convinces herself that’s weak Light Spinner thinking and talk. She’s Shadow Weaver, she’s been reborn, she’s a totally different person now!! (She’s pulling an Anakin Skywalker/Vader right now) So those guilt and shame feelings are because of who she was, not what she’s done! What she did made her stronger, more powerful, made her second in command of the Horde! 

And I think in that moment of, “Fuck you universe, I played your game and won and I won’t be denied again!” she manages to chip part of the garnet off. And that little chip radiates magical power. She makes her mask and uses it up, the hit of her drug feels good in comparison to how bad she felt, and once again she’s racing against the clock to magical death. But the chip of the runestone resonates with itself, she can re-charge it. She can now get an undiluted source of magic, take a good hard hit of her drug, whenever she wants. 

As the years go on she learns how to control that recharging to some degree, but mostly she’s stuck either drained of her power or brimming with it. (Remind you or anyone again again?) So she yo-yo’s with it. And the more she uses, the more she NEEDS to feel that sense of power and euphoria again. And the more she uses, the less good she feels but it’s still better to have than not. By the time we see her in the show I think Weaver is genuinely unable to reach that euphoria anymore. The Black Garnet is a lifeline now, charging up feels good but only to a baseline okay. She’s a functional addict now, but she’s miserable most of the time.

And to cap it all off, what did her ultimate cosmic power get her?

A position in the Horde where she’s the paper pusher for Hordak and also teaches young children. 

Hang on that sounds familiar… aw, shit, this is Mystacor 2.0 now! The only difference is she has two aces in the hole in the form of two abused and manipulated children instead of one shitty “little brother” (some friend he was!) and actually holds the respect (the fear) of those around her.

I think Weaver, to some extent, has accepted and loathes the mediocrity her life has become. She was once a god, but nothing can get her there again.

Let’s briefly talk about her relationship to Catra and Adora. First of all, yes, 100% she was their abuser. Like, that’s just straight up text, in the show, no duh. The controversial thing (bewilderingly) is that I think Shadow Weaver came to genuinely care for them. Like, in the most fucked up way possible, I think she cared for them. She projected onto them (both herself, Norwyn, Micah, Hordak, anyone who’s been important in her life she projected alternatingly on them) and she used them to stay emotionally balanced because the drugs just aren’t cutting it anymore fam. Likewise, I think to some extent she genuinely thought she was doing right by them.

Look, you need to accept that most people don’t think they’re wrong. They don’t think they’re monsters. They believe they are doing the right thing for themselves and usually everyone else too. Child abusers especially don’t see themselves as monsters, they are more likely to see themselves as victims fighting back than as a monster. It’s fucked up, it’s not okay, but that’s the way it goes. And I know that especially right now that might be cutting a little close to home, but it’s important to remember when it comes to Shadow Weaver and her story.

Weaver really thinks she’s helping these two little freaks she cares about out by making them “harder” (because Light Spinner was made weaker for being emotional), “stronger” (because Light Spinner was hurt and held back by not being stronger), and “powerful” (because doing drugs made her a fucking god-queen and got her everything she thinks is good in her life). So she has to be a little harsh (torturing children) at times, they’ll thank me later! Besides look at them, they love me (you’re basically their mom), they’re loyal to me (because they are desperate for parental approval), they respect me (they are terrified of you)! I’m raising them up so well :) (Madam, they are heavily traumatized!)

Weaver ALSO is still using them to regulate her own emotions. So when she has a good day, she can reward them within reason. If she had a bad day, all she has to do is be firm (torture children), and like magic she feels better! She can’t punch Hordak but she can electrocute and terrorize small children, and that’s almost the same thing.

So what if she’s drawing more and more power and burning through it faster and faster? So what that she’s started drinking to help ease the edges magic doesn’t? Life is pain and sucks, why can’t she do a few things to make it nicer? Does Shadow Weaver, too, not deserve a little treat in the face of the unending horrors?

And, god someone will want to kill me for this I’m sure, to some extent she isn’t wrong.

Shadow Weaver is a (fictional) person too. Everyone deserves to have some nice things. No one deserves to be in pain all the time, no one deserves to be scared all the time- and Weaver is in pain and scared all the time. Without her drug, she is weak and powerless and will die. That’s a horrifying and awful way to live your life. She doesn’t deserve that because no one does.

However, I think classifying picking up a second addiction and abusing children is, not, a little treat in the face of the unending horrors.

Weaver and me will just have to disagree on that point.

ANYHOW

Let’s jump forward a bit in time. Weaver gets in more dire straits, her life is more miserable, she’s at risk of dying from magic, magic withdrawal, and Hordak. Life’s a bitch and then you die. (Please picture modern AU Shadow Weaver as owning at least one throw pillow with “Life’s a Beach” on it, probably on her designer couch under the live, laugh, love wall art)

And all the sudden what she thought was solid ground just fucking vanishes under her feet.

Adora leaves???? Hordak is paying attention to her again and expecting shit????? CATRA IS IN CHARGE, WHAT!?!?!?!?!?

So Shadow Weaver is now powerless and locked up in her cell. Barely soaking up enough ambient magic to make her death particularly and excruciatingly slow. If she got sent to Beast Island it would either be quick or Micah could be her battery if he’s alive (and we’ll talk about Micah later, don’t worry). Once on Hordak’s shit list you are on it forever, so no getting her life back.

But she does have an option. It requires using up the last of Catra’s good will and loyalty (so she thinks) but it means she can get more drugs- I mean, uh, turn over a new leaf? Yeah, sure, we’ll go with that. Adora was always easier to manipulate without magic anyways, and now that she’s a literal princess she can do some magic charging too. Hell to the yeah- Shadow Weaver can never really lose baby!

First though I need to emphasize that when Shadow Weaver talks to Catra in the cell, she doesn’t full out lie. Maybe a half truth or lie of omission, but she uses the truth to get what she wants. And what she wants isn’t: to fuck Catra over (although that will be the consequence, too bad about that), to be explicitly cruel and traumatize Catra (although that will be the consequence, whaaaatever about that, poor little freak I care about), or really have anything to do with Catra.

That’s part of what makes her actions so painful. For Catra this felt targeted, it WAS a betrayal. Shadow Weaver is gone knowing what will happen to her instead of just letting Catra help. Catra genuinely thought she could flip their dynamic to some degree (she could help Weaver and then be the one in charge and then once mom sees how good I am at her job she’ll be all, “Oh I was so wrong about you! Let me apologize and grovel at your feet! You’re so amazing and cool and I will help you the way I said I’d help Adora because I love you and care so, so, so much about you!”) and that Shadow Weaver didn’t have a choice. But even when Weaver shouldn’t have had another choice she STILL CHOSE ANYTHING ELSE OVER CATRA.

From Shadow Weaver’s perspective it was very much more: I have nothing to give and don’t wanna die, survive at any cost. Catra is gonna probably be punished and/or die, which sucks, but not more than me dying. So Imma head out.

Catra was collateral damage, not the target.

Anyhow-

Weaver escapes and is booking it to her newest candy (drug) machine, she is already feeling a little better because, weirdly enough, it turns out isolating yourself away from free flora magics to maintain a baseline amount of your own magic is not a good thing. Weirdly enough taking hard drugs does not mean that you can stop taking your multi-vitamin and eating a balanced diet. She makes it to Brightmoon and quickly realizes her plan won’t work.

Adora is… mad at her? For some reason? Is she really holding onto those little hurts? Please! She was raised better than that, it’s war, she’ll get over it.

Someday.

But until that day Weaver needs another plan.

Good news, She-Ra magic did heal her. It gave Weaver her own source of magic again. Huzzah for not dying and being on a constant timer for death! Okay news, Brightmoon has so much more ambient magic it’s kinda wild and the forced withdrawal is not longer a cold turkey quit like the Horde was. Bad news, Weaver still doesn’t have a new source for her drug and she wants one- needs one!

And then Glimmer arrives.

Yeah, Shadow Weaver can work with that.

Teleporting to the Fright Zone and using Glimmer as a literal battery pack is the first real high Shadow Weaver has had in a long time. She had been drug free for quite a while, so having access to runestone magic again feels so much better than it did by the end of her time with the Horde. She is strong! She is powerful! She is on another euphoric ride! When Catra shows up, Weaver has no problem attacking her and torturing her for two reasons: 

Catra’s loyalty and love are gone because Weaver used it up to escape prison (so she thinks)

GOD THIS MAGIC FEELS SO GOOD, HOT DAMN!

Man this is going so well! Everyone is going to realize they were wrong about her. Once Weaver decides to change sides, she means it, all or nothing! She totally isn’t still struggling with the same insecurities she’s always had because she’s never addressed them or worked on them and fuck you for suggesting otherwise. She just likes being right, has nothing to do with having others see her as worthy and cool! They’ll get back and Glimmer will tell her mom, “And Shadow Weaver was instrumental in this victory, in fact, Shadow Weaver was key to it! She is a good guy now!” And Queen Angella will be like, “Wow, that is so great, thank you for saving and protecting my daughter! Would you like access to the moonstone? Perhaps a position of great power?” Maybe she’ll get another statue of herself, that would be neat!

(Shadow Weaver is high as balls folks, the thinking is not gonna be realistic here lol)

And then Queen Angella is dead.

Well…

Fuck.

Weaver’s high runs out long before things are settled and Glimmer crowned queen, but she already knows her game plan now. People still think she’s a bad guy, which is CRAZY TALK! So she’s going to prove them wrong, get in good with the queen (like a second mother perhaps?), get access to her drug, be powerful, and live the good life again. So there will be more work and manipulation to get there, it’s fine, Shadow Weaver is no stranger to hard work and a shitty life. She will make it happen.

And it kinda does. She gets in good with Glimmer. Teaching magic means accessing some magic, even if it’s not the good shit that gets you high. She’s proving how smart and talented she is, and also that she’s a good guy now and should be trusted with more delicious She-Ra healing magic.

Slight problem though.

Glimmer isn’t stupid.

If there’s one major critique I have for how fandom characterizes Glimmer in season 4, it’s that she’s treated like she’s either super naive or stupid.

Glimmer and Adora are, in some ways, having the same feelings about Shadow Weaver but just at different times. Adora sentiment of, “I won’t be tricked by you, trust me that I understand who and what you are. I need my friends to trust me.” is echoed by Glimmer in season 4. I think part of Glimmer’s frustration with Adora stems from the way that when Adora stood in this position, Glimmer did eventually trust her and let Adora do what needed to be done, but now that she’s here Adora won’t do the same? (It’s part of the larger, Adora thinks she’s better than me, Adora thinks she’s smarter than me, Adora is trying to undermine me, Adora doesn’t trust me- which is all actually Adora trying to show her love and respect while protecting someone in her very unhealthy traumatized way)

Glimmer’s fight with Adora and isolation in general in season 4 actually allows Shadow Weaver further in than she would’ve before (So everything is coming up Shadow Weaver!). But she takes it too far, Glimmer cottons on to what’s happening. And unlike Adora and Catra, Glimmer has had more support and love in her life. Weaver is not the be all end all, Weaver is not her mother, Weaver is a poker chip that Glimmer is trying to use. Glimmer also has more self awareness and coping skills. 

So Weaver doesn’t fully get her hooks in. She still does damage, she still uses Glimmer, it’s still skeevy as fucking hell. But it’s not the same and Weaver is locked out in the cold.

So what’s a powerful sorceress to do? She’s been off her drug of choice again for so long that I think she’s thinking of it as more of an abstract concept and following old bad habits because what else is she supposed to do? Reflect on herself, get therapy, and become a better person? That requires her admitting to doing wrong and dealing with all the guilt and shame- hard pass!

(Quick aside, Shadow Weaver is prideful. Very prideful. And do you know what that also entails? A lot of shame. So, so much shame.)

Then Glimmer vanishes and Micah returns.

Let’s finally talk about Micah and Shadow Weaver. Or, more accurately, let’s talk about Micah and Light Spinner to start.

I don’t actually agree with the take that she abused Micah. I think she did mistreat him, she was an adult and treated him like an adult colleague when he was a child she should have been protecting. Light Spinner had no right to expect a literal child who was under her care and purview to take care of her in any way shape or form, but she did. She went to him to vent and blow off steam which made him feel important and mature and grown up. Her childishness matched his actual childishness. It wasn’t a healthy relationship, but that doesn’t mean it was abuse. I genuinely get the sense that Light Spinner thought of Micah as her equal, that he was perhaps her only friend at that point. There’s nothing wrong with a friendship between an adult and a child, but there are boundaries that the adult is responsible for maintaining and Light Spinner did not. They cared for each other, platonically loved each other, considered themselves good friends to one another- and they were also too co-dependent and unhealthily attached in largest part because Light Spinner did not behave appropriately with him.

And I don’t think those feelings just vanished after the spell failed from Micah bailing on a shit situation.

This is headcanon territory again, so hold on tight please.

I think King Micah was captured by the Horde and spent time in a cell. In fact, I like to imagine it was the cell Weaver was thrown into because Hordak is a petty bitch like that. Shadow Weaver would go and visit him, maybe even personally delivered food to have the excuse to visit him. Show off a little, see how good I’m doing now! And look, Micah, if you just give me something, tell me some information, pledge a little loyalty, I can help you! Hordak wants you dead, but I care about you. So help me to help you!

(Sound familiar? I think this is a large part of why Weaver didn’t give Catra anything she could use, she’d been on the other side too and already knew what was actually at the end of that offer.)

Micah, meanwhile, hasn’t given up on her. He knows his good friend and mentor is still in there, and he believes firmly that he can bring Light Spinner back. He can convince her to stop this! She never even liked the Horde anyways, and now that she knows how evil they are, how could she possibly be okay with it? She could just leave and join him in Brightmoon instead! (Sound familiar????)

And Shadow Weaver is aghast that Micah doesn’t understand how mistreated she was, how hurt she was back on that side. In fact, he doesn’t seem to even think he BETRAYED HER by bailing on the evil spell! What the FUCK Micah, I thought you cared about me? I thought you were my friend!? But you don’t understand and you never will! (SOUND FA- *I am dragged offstage by a comically oversized hook)

The difference between Catra and Weaver in this situation is that Catra never stopped believing she could save Weaver. But Weaver used her hurt and hate to go to Hordak and tell him, “There’s nothing he will reveal.” She possibly even escorted Micah to the pod to send him to Beast Island.

Shadow Weaver saw this as tit for tat. Micah had betrayed her first, she was just returning the favor. See how he liked being left to die!

For Micah this is what broke the good will.

So, season 5. Glimmer is gone, She-Ra is gone, but Micah is back. Shadow Weaver thinks because she was advising the queen that she has a position to bargain from. To be fair, she has a better position than most people but it’s nothing special or powerful or even official. She is shunned, she is isolated, she is mistrusted, and she is hated. It validates everything Weaver believes about how the world works. She tries to ingrain with Micah a bit, I bet anything that she asked him for just a little drug because then she could fight more out on the field of battle. 

Micah is also not stupid. He blocks her every chance, they argue and bicker and Weaver realizes pretty quick that it isn’t gonna work.

So she focuses on her last chance for magical drug abuse- Castaspella.

We don’t know much about her and Light Spinner’s relationship in Mystacor. It comes across as very dismissive. That Light Spinner did not see Castaspella as an equal worthy of her time and, therefore, she didn’t get any of it. Casta seems like she was a little jealous of Micah’s treatment and special access, but never to an extreme amount. But Casta knows what Weaver did to Micah, she knows what Weaver did in the Horde, and she does not trust the woman at all.

Castaspella is also not stupid, it’s a family trait I think.

She is willing to partner up with Weaver and explore their options because this is literally the apocalypse and end of the world. So the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and Casta (unlike her brother) is willing to make a deal with the devil to make it happen.

Weaver returns and boom, Glimmer is back, She-Ra is back, Catra is back. Three potential aces in the hole and two potential power sources! Except Adora is spotty on the She-Ra stuff and Glimmer ain’t sharing. Fine, she has a plan anyways.

And this is an important moment for Weaver, I think she gets excited and then lets it go. She’s no longer locked into addiction. She’s still an addict, but she’s now been clean long enough that craving a hit doesn’t mean going half insane in the pursuit of it. But she’s still thinking and acting in a way that will lead her towards that drug, more habit than anything else. I don’t think she’s even aware at this point that raw magical highs are no longer the be all end all. It’s the power and respect she felt that gave her, it’s the euphoria and confidence it gave her that matters.

Now the failsafe, 100% if Weaver knew she could take it and get to the heart and survive she would’ve taken it as a “selfless good guy” act. But Weaver values survival almost above everything else, and she knows the odds are very, very against her. Whereas Adora has a good chance to survive, if she can focus and be She-Ra. If she does, then great, Weaver proves she’s a good guy (again, the ungrateful ingrates!) and proves she can be trusted with raw magic so maybe can they pwetty pwease let her get high on just an itty bitty bit of magic? As a little treat, perhaps? And if Adora fails and dies, well the heart fires and if they survive, Weaver proves she was a good guy who can be trusted around magic, and gets sympathy points for losing her pseudo-daughter. Maybe enough that Glimmer will trust her more again and moonstone power is hers to feed on like a fat happy house cat. Maybe she’ll even get Micah to see reason. And if Adora fails and dies and the heart fires and they die, well, she certainly won’t be around to notice, will she?

Shadow Weaver still cares for Adora, in her supremely fucked up way, but by now she is seeing Adora as the one who turned her back on Weaver. Everyone always “betrays” Weaver first (stop pointing at Catra, stop it, Weaver didn’t betray her and if she did then Catra betrayed Weaver by taking over and throwing her in jail so there for infinity) after all. Otherwise Weaver might have to think about all the bad things she’s done in her life, justified and not- and we all know Shadow Weaver has never done anything wrong ever and if she did, well now she’s a good guy so you HAVE to forgive and forget.

Then Catra has to be dramatic and run away (which Shadow Weaver wanted so Adora could focus only to realize that whoops, Catra was what helped Adora focus enough to transform) so now there’s no She-Ra so Adora is totes dead. Can Shadow Weaver get an f in the chat for Adora, everyone?

Also, Shadow Weaver can either celebrate surviving by being drunk off her ass or she can die happily sedated. If no one wants to give her hard drugs she’ll just have to settle for a good red!

And then Catra comes back and Weaver, drunk, is like, “Yer show BAHD for her! Dun tryin stopper. She’s gotta do it man.” Because, again, drunk, cynical, and falling into old habits. Catra, however, has been doing some of that self reflection and growing thing and doesn’t fall with her. Sobering up because, wait what the fuck, but my abuse script- I can’t abuse without my abuse script, she listens and thinks and remembers: Catra is the key to She-Ra.

Also the little ego stroke of “I know you’ve got more power than you’re letting on” (IE: you are so smart and cunning and strong!) which I don’t think Catra meant but I think a drunk Shadow Weaver who’s always had insecurity over not being enough and translated that into a lifetime of needing to get gassed up with drugs and false praise probably takes it that way, definitely helps with that.

Called out on the tracking (devices? Magic?) Weaver decides, fuck it. I am a good guy after all, let’s go get the failsafe to the heart and then I can leech some drugs off that as a side benny.

Pretty sure the teleportation drains Weaver heavily and sobers her up, the nausea is probably killer tho. That’s fine, the on screen action where she basically fades into the background is a great time to control that desire to vomit. Then it’s off to be a hero or something.

Except Catra goes hero mode and Weaver thinks, “I can work with this. Nice nice nice.” So she helps Adora limp to the heart, but of course Adora is distracted by Catra AGAIN. Messy ass lesbian love! Weaver tries to make Adora focus the way that used to work, but whoops everyone else has been learning to connect with their emotions and desires so it doesn’t work. Weaver gets a contact high that police have developed mass hysteria into believing fentanyl gives, and Adora books it. 

And this is one of the most pivotal moments in Shadow Weaver’s story and it happens entirely off screen.

Weaver has been left alone with the ultimate pure, raw, unadulterated magic for thousands of years. It’s so strong, so powerful, that she gets a fucking charge just from being NEAR it. She looks back at it, and she considers her choices.

Weaver can try taking that power for herself. If it works it’ll be better than the failed spell of obtainment. A better high, more power, more respect, she’ll finally single handedly be able to end this war. If it fails she at minimum kills herself but maybe everyone.

And unlike before where the idea that dying as collateral is 100% okay to her, Weaver decides that it isn’t worth it this time. The chance of getting the high, getting the power is not worth it. She will never have this chance again in her life. Shadow Weaver has made a lot of “good choices” for “bad reasons” up to this point. And whatever her reasons were, I think this is the moment where Shadow Weaver makes her first good choice for a good reason. It’s the most Light Spinner-esque choice she’s made in a long time.

Shadow Weaver takes the contact high she has and leaves with a plan to fight for a free Etheria.

It’s full circle, she’s finally back to her original goal, her original purpose. She can’t save the planet on her own. She’s not a god. She’s not a princess. But she’s a powerful sorcerer with full power banks, and she can use that.

When she gets to the creature Shadow Weaver has one singular mission. Get Adora to the heart to free magic and save the planet. That’s it. That’s the mission. No ulterior secondary plans. Perhaps a faint hope that she’ll survive this, but I doubt it. She’s too cynical and jaded to believe that, her actions don’t align with her desire to survive.

As much as people hate to admit it, Shadow Weaver genuinely does have a big damn hero moment here. She comes in, she saves Catra and Adora because she knows what they mean to each other, she knows Adora needs Catra for She-Ra, and that Adora needs She-Ra to survive the heart. Shadow Weaver is doing her one good thing, she is sacrificing herself knowingly to save her two pseudo-daughters and the planet. She is being, genuinely, one of the good guys in this moment.

I think that Weaver is riding the high a little, riding that euphoria one last time the way she originally meant to. She creates that nice little book end I love so much. Shadow Weaver is selfish, self center, power hungry, and craves authority. She is that way because of her own fears, insecurities, and traumas. 

Dying does not redeem Shadow Weaver. Redemption is not a gift, it is a life long act of compassion.

Dying does not forgive Shadow Weaver for what she’s done. Forgiveness is also a lifelong action of compassion which can only be given by willing individuals. Weaver does not survive long enough to be given forgiveness and then keep earning it afterwards.

But Shadow Weaver’s story is a very human story. It’s a tragedy in many ways. She is an antagonist in this show, and it does show! She was a good person with good intentions who made the wrong choice. 

The biggest difference between her and Glimmer is that as soon as Glimmer realized it was a mistake, she went to try and fix it, she apologized for it, she put in the work to put things to right. The biggest difference between her and Catra is that Catra was willing (eventually!) to actually look her behavior in the eyes and refuse to be that way anymore, she was willing to work on her insecurities to be a better person, she was willing to work for forgiveness and redemption. The biggest difference between her and Adora is that Weaver bought into her savior complex, she truly believed she was that powerful and strong and that that was the only way to do what she saw as the right thing.

So Shadow Weaver is here, riding the wave, doing the right thing and for those of you who have swooped in to save the day (big or small) you probably know the feel good feeling that comes as part of that. She has magic and adrenaline and endorphins pumping around her system- and Shadow Weaver is an all or nothing person. She dedicated to being good, finally, so she is going to be good damn it all!

I think when she tells the girls that it’s too late for her, but it’s the beginning for them she means it. It’s admitting she’s planning to die, it’s admitting she was wrong.

I think when she tells Catra she’s proud of her, that she also means it. Catra has become who Light Spinner wanted to be. Strong, powerful, loved, respected. 

I think when she tells them, “You’re welcome.” She means it. I think she also knows it’s the last thing she can really say, the last words of the condemned that will be remembered.

I think she wants to be a good guy and be redeemed and be forgiven.

And I think that despite all of this, she isn’t.

Shadow Weaver made bad choices and was held at gun point by addiction, and as a consequence she became a bad person because she was unwilling to work on the ugly, nasty parts of herself. She was a bad person not because she was an addict, not because she was naive, but because each time the opportunity to change for the better came- each time she actually had the ability to change her heading… she didn’t. Not until the very, very end. And one brave, heroic act does not make someone a brave hero. 

It makes her a bad person who did a good thing.

I feel like the Crew-Ra talked a lot about that idea. That good people can do bad things, and bad people good things, and that the real divide in the grey area between good and bad people are the choices we make. And I feel like in some ways the fandom has selective amnesia about that. We like to remember it for Catra. We like to remember it for Hordak. It’s easier to do for them, they did (at minimum) start turning themselves around more fully. It’s easier to remember for them because they had that time on screen for us to go with it.

Shadow Weaver didn’t, and honestly that is for the best. She is a great antagonist and I think her complex and nuanced ending is perfect for her BECAUSE it doesn’t just hand wave anything with her. We saw her evil, we saw her neutral, we saw her final attempt at good. More than enough for the message that bad people can do good things.

It’s part of why Catra and Adora wouldn’t dance on Weaver’s grave. They had complex relationships with her, more bad than good, but there was good and they did love and care about her in some fashion. That’s why Catra doesn’t say “good riddance!” when Weaver dies. She begs Shadow Weaver to not do this because she’ll die. It’s why both of them cry as they watch.

I know the joke, and I love the joke, that Shadow Weaver died doing what she loved. Traumatizing children.

Because, yeah, she did traumatize them one last time with her death! It’s part of what makes this heroic sacrifice a bit ironic to me. Even trying her hardest, even doing her one good thing, Shadow Weaver still hurts people. But it’s also trauma because Catra and Adora cared about her.

I’m not saying everything was hunky dorey between Weaver and the people/children she manipulated, mistreated, and abused and we should remember her as a hero. Not even close.

But I am saying that all these years later…

I’m tired of watching such a brilliantly written, designed, animated, and acted character be flattened out into a caricature. Shadow Weaver is not a cardboard cutout villain, there is a lot of genuine depth and nuance to her character. She has a character arc, and I believe she does grow as a character too!

I personally think Shadow Weaver is the best written character on the show. She’s probably legit one of my favorite characters (not just villains, characters) of all time! I’m never going to write a soft Shadow Weaver story where her heart grows three sizes blah blah blah. But I want to see takes about her and works about her that aren’t boiled down to: abused Catra, or abused Adora, or child abuser general ™.

She did and she was. She was also a lot more and if you wanna give her that full depth that she was so lovingly crafted and presented with, you have to start acknowledging that Shadow Weaver had good traits too, at one point was a good person, and died doing a genuinely brave and heroic deed. Same as you have to recognize that someone genuinely loving her deeply (romantic or otherwise) would not be enough to help her insecurities and fears. Same as we have to remember what redemption and forgiveness are.

I’m not asking you to love Weaver because she was a misunderstood little meow meow. Mischaracterized, yes, misunderstood? Oh god no.

I’m asking you to love Shadow Weaver because she’s a fucking cool and amazingly done character, and she deserves a bit of in depth love beyond love to hate.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[arctic-hands]

For real tho health freaks who scream about how sugar and salt will kill us all and try to push for restrictions on things like candy and chips for SNAP recipients or politicians who try from time to time to replace food stamps all together and give out Government Approved Staples like bread and peanut butter and Government Cheese are gonna kill a whole lotta sick and disabled people like

Diabetics

POTS sufferers

Hypotensives

People with peanut allergies

People with celiac disease or wheat allergies

The lactose intolerant

People who can't eat solid food

People who are undernourished for any reason and need all the calories they can pack on

So-called "picky eaters" who can't tolerate certain tastes and textures without getting violently ill

A myriad of other human conditions that cannot be neatly tallied into categories because the human body and human experience is vast and infinitely variable

But I don't think ableds really care about us and our health like they like to claim so they can harass us about it, do you?