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bratbarzal · 2 days ago

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On My Side (NH13)

Pairing: Nico "I think the hockey gods were on my side" Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy

WC: 6k

part of the On Your Side universe

*This is a bonus chapter set after the ending of the overall fic, and can be read as a standalone if you haven't read the fic, but if you want to understand their dynamic and Poppy's personality a little more, you should!!!

Description: 18+ MDNI, Nico comes home to Poppy after scoring his first ever career hat-trick for the Devils. Way more fluff than smut but Nico is down bad as always.

A/N: You're all a bunch of enablers and that's all I have to say on the matter!!! Hope this fills the void while I continue to struggle with chapter ten lmao there is mention of Baby Cheeto in here but no spoilers for her name. Nico calls her Bug as a nickname, like _____-Bug, Chäferli (little bug) or just Bug for short, but it isn't her actual name. I can't use Cheeto forever lmao. I was literally trying to think of a title and remembered he said the words "on my side" WHAT IF I TOLD YOU HE'S A MASTERMIND he's an oys!truther if I ever saw one! Painfully obsessed with Poppy if you ask me. Also the way Cheeto would rock the heck out of this it's so cute I had to share

Nico Hischier likes to think he’s a patient man.

Finally scoring his first career hat-trick after 8 years in the NHL, after 476 games played with the Devils, would be the ultimate testament to that.

Doing so in the first ever game with his daughter in attendance - on home turf, his mother and Poppy holding her up in the family suite during warm-ups in her little Devils teddy sleeper that he can only just make out from down on the ice, but has his rampant heart beating out of his chest all the same - has him thinking that maybe, after all those years, after all those games, the stars had been aligning for him the whole time.

And it was that sort of patience he had tried to tune into since the end of the second period, when he knew Poppy had left early to try skip traffic and get their little girl home safe for bed.

It’s what he tries to channel in the aftermath of the game, swarmed by reporters in the locker room, trying to remain polite and professional, not rushing them through their questions or giving half-assed answers - knowing he owes a lot more than that to the organisation that has allowed him to get this far. Trying to save just a speck of energy to give when he finally gets home, collapsing into the warm embrace of the girls he knows are waiting patiently for him.

It’s what he holds onto when he has to take a detour on his way home, dropping his mom off at her hotel and trying not to visibly squirm in his seat as she regales him with stories of how his daughter had captured the hearts of everyone she encountered, swallowing down the slight jealousy that he hadn’t been there to see it and clinging to the fact that he had his own success elsewhere in the night - success that played second fiddle in his own mother’s eyes to the experience of sharing her granddaughter’s first ever game with her, an experience he had to endure twice as she called his father from his car, deep chuckles ringing through the speakers as he tried to get a word in edge ways beyond her excitement.

It’s what has him shaking with anticipation as he almost skips down the hall to their apartment, mustering up the rest of his energy to walk into their home without the weight of the world on his shoulders, leaving any doubt, any insecurity, any lingering self-deprecation at the door so he can bask in this moment with the two hearts that are shaped entirely to fit him into them.

And it’s what has him shaking off whatever disappointment tries to creep in when he sees his little girl asleep in Poppy’s arms, knowing whatever tiny part of her he will ever get will always be enough - even if her big, glassy eyes aren’t looking up at him, even if he doesn’t come home to one of those heart-stopping beaming smiles she has started to give to him whenever he enters the room - her being here, sleeping safely in the arms of her beautiful mother, and him getting to come home to whatever version of them he can, is more than he could ever ask for.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the hat-trick hero.” Poppy’s soft voice carries to him as he makes his way over, dropping his bag on the floor and keys on the counter, heading straight to where she is now standing and pressing a kiss to her waiting lips. “Hi, handsome.”

“She didn’t wanna say goodnight to her daddy, huh?” He tries not to sound too dejected - he’s supposed to be on a high, after all - but after half an hour of his mother unintentionally bragging about all the attention she had been giving to her Gromi all night, he can’t help the slight sag of his shoulders - especially knowing that she’s going to be spending the morning with his mom tomorrow, too.

“Sorry, baby, we watched a little of you on the TV and then she got hangry,” Nico finds himself hypnotised by her still figure, enamoured with the way she exudes sheer calmness. The smile that creeps up on his lips seems to do so by muscle memory - a dopey kind of smile he’s probably had plastered on his face since she came into the world kicking and screaming 2 months ago, a smile permanently etched into his features from probably even before that. “I promise I tried to keep her up, she literally fell asleep on my boob.” Poppy whispers, watching with warm, glittery eyes as Nico takes in the sight of his two favourite people in front of him - Poppy already changed into one of his shirts, settled for the night, and his baby girl all cosy in her little teddy bear onesie, pacifier bobbing between her plush little lips.

“Look at her hat,” he pouts, running a finger along the folded seam of the way-too-big beanie Poppy has perched on top of her head, the knit fabric falling just short of her closed eyes. “That’s adorable.”

“Your mom put it on her before we left,” Poppy chuckles lightly, “Wanted to keep it on until you got home, we had to celebrate the hatty properly.” Her brows raise as if gesturing to the bill of the cap on her own head, one of his, he’s sure - no doubt stolen from their closet as soon as she got home.

“My little good luck charm,” he leans down to press a kiss to her cheek before he lifts himself back up and bends toward Poppy, “Gonna have to start coming to all the games.”

“I’ll let you break the news to her when she wakes up,” she hums as he presses his lips to hers, “She has a very low tolerance for everybody telling her to smile and getting all up in her space, been grouchy all night.”

“Just like Mami, huh, bug?”

“Oh, you think you’ve got jokes now?” Poppy scoffs as she steps back, ready to take their daughter to bed. “Score your first hatty and you think you’re funny?”

“Always been funny, babe,” he smirks, flicking at the cap sat on her head before he takes it off, flipping it to place on top of his own and following her down the hall. “I’ll prove it to you when I get her first laugh.”

“She’ll be laughing at you, not with you.”

“Better than nothing.”

Nico sits on the edge of their bed as Poppy reaches into the crib to retrieve the sleeping bag in there before she lays it down beside him. He does the work unzipping and readying it for her to place their daughter inside while she rocks her still-sleeping body, and the two of them work in tandem to get her inside before zipping her back up, with Nico softly pulling the beanie from her head and watching her fluffy hair fan out in its absence.

He runs a gentle hand over her head to smooth it down as Poppy lifts her, and leans into where she offers her up for a kiss before she puts her in the crib. Nico watches with a soft smile etched into his features, the familiarity of it all spreading warmth throughout his chest, his favourite part of every day being this - sharing a goodnight routine in the comfortable quiet, the two loves of his life safe and happy within arms reach.

None of it feels new or daunting anymore, just easy - and despite the constant warnings of it not always being this way, Nico just wants to feel it to its fullest extent; sheer happiness and serenity.

Poppy returns to the front of him, and he instinctively spreads his legs to accommodate her, palms laying flat against his chest and his hands falling to her hips. She just looks at him for a good few seconds, eyes shimmering with admiration, lips tugged between teeth and a head tilted as her expression flickers into something more intense.

Her hands travel down his arms, wordlessly, until she grasps at his wrists and pulls him to stand, leaning up to press a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth. “C’mon,” she whispers while her lips are still against his skin, “Wanna celebrate you.”

As if getting to come home to her isn’t celebration enough.

He follows her back through the hall with their hands clasped together, arms stretched between them so he can watch the hem of his shirt ride up against the backs of her soft thighs, and he starts to feel his throat go dry.

He thinks of all those mornings they would spend in the kitchen together in the summer, his shirts a little tighter around her pregnant belly, riding up against her curves and leaving very little to the imagination when she’d wear just his t-shirt and nothing else.

She’s wearing panties now, he can tell, could see the bottom of them peaking out when she’d leaned over to put their daughter in her crib. But he doesn’t mind inching them off, quite likes the slow pace of unwrapping her like a gift - a well-deserved present for all his hard efforts on the ice.

It’s where his fingers find themselves almost immediately when she stops just short of the couch, spinning and practically launching herself into his waiting arms. He can’t help but chuckle as they collide, large arms wrapping around her frame as she melts into him, hands gripping either side of his jaw to pull him down in a clash of teeth and tongues. He palms at her ass as she presses her hips forward, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties and wriggling under them until his knuckles are covered by the fabric, squeezing at the flesh until she groans into his open mouth.

He feels deft fingers working between them to rid him of his own clothes, clumsily popping open the buttons of his jacket before working their way up his chest, slipping into the arms and helping him shrug it off. The weight of it drops to the floor with a heavy thud, and when her hands return to his chest for the next item of clothing to be removed, she pushes him back with an exaggerated huff.

“Baby, how many layers do you need?”

“You in some kind of rush, or something?” He chuckles, chasing her lips with a crane of his neck, getting a quick kiss in before she pushes him back again with palms laid flat on his broad chest.

“Your daughter has some sort of radar for when we’re within 2 inches of each other,” she says as her hands slide down, the feel of them through the extra layers he has on still present as she travels past the hard ridges of his abdomen. She grasps tight at the bottom of his hoody, and he lends a hand to tugging it up and over his head, throwing that to the floor, too. “We gotta get a move on before she wakes up,”

“My daughter?” He scoffs, removing his undershirt while she’s distracted, relishing the feeling of a heavy gaze on his chest once it’s fully revealed to her hungry eyes. “She’s really given you such a hard time that you’re disowning her?”

“She isn’t letting me have a hard time at all, that’s the problem.” Her hands reach back out seemingly of their own volition, fingers fanning out across his skin as her stare glides down, the weight of it sliding down his skin to the point he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

“That was weak for you.” He teases.

“I’m out of practice,” she pouts, closing the distance once more and pressing her lips to the slightly stubbled skin of his jaw, nipping at the flesh as her ministrations travel across his features, his jaw, his neck, the spot just below his ear, where she mutters, “Wanna show you how proud I am of you,”

“Oh yeah?” He asks as she works at the button of his pants, pushing until they pool at his feet and he can kick them off.

“Mmhm,” she moves her kisses back to his waiting lips, “Been waiting to get my hands on you all night.”

“Been waiting to get my hands on you all day,” he mutters back, bending to lift her with hands gripping her ass, “Been thinking about you teasing me in the kitchen this morning,” he starts heading for the couch, mind spinning as she continues kissing him - thinking of all the plans she had been making for the two of them while his mom takes Little Bug out in the morning, finally giving them some much needed, uninterrupted time to themselves. Plans of wasting the morning away between the sheets, sharing showers, having no responsibilities other than paying attention to one another. “Thinking about having you all to myself tomorrow."

“You gonna let me give you a preview?”

He chuckles as he falls back onto the couch, all grace thrown out the window as they sink into the cushions, her still holding onto him and now straddling his lap, lips stretched into a blissful smile as he looks up at her.

She presses them straight to his, and he can’t bring himself to mind the way their teeth clash at her eagerness, hips grinding down onto his as she settles onto her knees.

He could spend forever kissing her like this, sensual and sloppy, the slight scratch of her nails against the sides of his neck and his grip on her thighs guiding her movements straight onto the aching growth between his legs.

He bucks up to meet her, and their lips part with a wet smack as she groans.

"Bet you can’t wait for me to shave, eh?” he smiles as he swipes a thumb across the space between her nose and lip, the skin red raw from the scratch of his moustache.

“You know damn well I’d ban you from ever touching a razor again if I could.” She says, breathlessly, slowly thrusting down onto him.

“Tell that to your little red muzzy, you’re giving Luke a run for his money,”

“Hey,” she swats at his chest in feigned outrage, “The kid tried his best!”

“No more talk about Hughes when you’re sat on my lap,”

“You brought him up!”

“Thought I was getting a preview,” he groans as he shuffles, reaching between them to slip a hand between her legs, tucking his fingers beneath her panties and swiping against her heat. “Jesus, Poppy.”

“Told you I’ve been thinking about you all night,” she pecks at his lips again, raising her hips a little to give him further access to slide his fingers through the almost excessive wetness that’s near enough soaked through her panties.

He prods at her entrance, two fingers slipping straight in until she’s gasping against his cheek in sheer bliss. His digits move with ease, working his way up to his knuckles as he drinks up her pleasured moans, his chin tilting until their open mouths just press together without kissing, panting against one another as he works her up.

He pushes the fabric of his shirt up her thighs with his other hand, exposing his handiwork to hungry eyes so he can see the way she glistens between her legs - can see the way his fingers slide in an out of her.

She takes his shirt off, throwing it beside them on the couch so she can see too, looking down for only a moment before she’s throwing her head back.

He’s so hard just watching her that it’s almost painful - straining against the seams of his briefs until they’re tenting beneath her. And she must notice, nimble fingers working him out until he’s thick and hot and heavy in her palm, gripping around him in with her thumb swiping at his tip, hips shuffling until his fingers slip out of her heat and she can move on her knees to hover above his waiting cock.

He takes a hold of himself while her hands raise to steady herself on his shoulders, and he waits with bated breath as she lowers herself, sinking past her entrance until he’s sheathed entirely, tight, wet walls wrapped around him in a long-awaited embrace.

Their moans fall out in sync, both of them stilling, the only movements between them being the soft rise and fall of panting chests.

It’s a minute before she starts to rock her hips, leaning back down to distract herself from whatever unease needs to fade away with the press of her lips to his - tongue swiping at his, sucking and nipping at the muscle as she works herself to the point where she can lift herself up a little.

“Fuck me,” he whines out in an elongated groan as she sinks down on him again, tight and slick and warm, and he feels tension in every cell in his body, strung taut to the point where he feels like he could snap entirely in any given moment.

“I’m working on it,” she pouts, “Think I overestimated my talents here,”

“Think you’re very talented,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her jaw as he lays large hands on the dip of her waist, fingers tickling into the arch of her back so her movements are a little smoother, a little more fluid. “So good to me, yeah? Just need a hand.”

He guides her hips into a steady rhythm - up, down, forward, back - until she’s rocking onto him in a mind numbing pace.

God, he thinks, this is heaven.

It’s been so long since he’s had her like this. Probably all the way back in Switzerland in the summer, and he thinks a lot about this situation mirrors that - trying to stay quiet, trying to feel as much of each other as they possibly can without drawing attention from sleeping parties one room over.

He remembers thinking, all those months ago, that it wouldn’t be possible to love Poppy any more than he did, then - that he couldn’t possibly feel more for her than he did when he shared that part of his world, and she had embraced it with open arms. She had blended straight into his family, had adapted herself to his routine, had brought new life and colour to what he had always considered vibrant, anyway, but she had changed the meaning of it all.

But she had done the same to life in Jersey.

Long gone were any feelings of homesickness he used to get - especially around this time of the year. Fully immersed now into his season, summer seeming too far from his reach that he started to forget what home felt like. But not anymore.

Home is Poppy. Home is their baby girl sleeping soundly in the next room. It’s playing one of the greatest games of his career so far, meeting milestones he had been reaching for for so long, standing in the centre of the arena he has built his career in, hearing the rapturous cheers of fans chanting his name, and driving back knowing the love garnered there could never possibly compare to the love waiting for him in his apartment.

He brings her face down with a palm splayed gently across her jaw, fingers reaching back to tickle at the nape of her neck and thumb swiping tenderly at her soft cheekbone, until their mouths collide. He shifts his hips to meet her ministrations, finding a rhythm that has her gasping into his mouth, enough that his tongue can slip past the seam of her lips and press against hers - hot and fervid and eager.

He wonders as the pressure builds if this passion will ever wither. If this need to profess his love for her will ever wain away, if he’ll ever be casual about the way in which she has become the entire centre of his universe.

He hopes not.

He hopes when he’s 80, he looks over at her and his heart still hammers in his chest. He hopes his mouth struggles to make sense of all the ways in which his brain tries to convey what she means to him - hopes he still stutters around his sentences and feels weak to the very base of his spine at the mere thought of her.

In fact, he doesn’t hope at all.

He knows he will.

“You feel so good,” Poppy mutters into his mouth, panting against his swollen lips, “I’ve missed this so much.”

“Yeah?” He thrusts up, “You missed being full of me?”

He’s missed this far out look in her eyes, glassed over and almost gone as she nods in response - they haven’t really been able to get to this stage with their quick fumbles and rushed hookups in the last 2 weeks since she got the all clear from her doctor for them to start being intimate again. Sure, they had developed other methods over those first 6 weeks, making good use of hands and mouths in whatever limited time they could find together, but nothing compares to this.

To being attached at every point like they are one.

“You gonna come for me?”

He still remembers her tells, fluttering lashes, trembling thighs, stuttered breaths all combined with the spine tingling way in which she tightens around him, and he manages to time it so they come together, one final burst of energy used to lift his hips just as she sinks down, body slumping into tremors that wrack through the both of them.

He holds her in place for a second, large hands pushing his shirt up her back as he starts to rub circles into her flesh, soothing her back into a softened consciousness - hazy and frazzled but still in tune with every movement he makes.

Her nose presses into the expanse of his neck, lips pecking at all the sensitive spots she can seek out as they both try to catch their breaths - and he realises she was probably right before, they haven’t had time like this for a while now.

Still, he’ll take what he can get.

She lifts her hips just enough for him to slip out, and reaches to the small table at the side of the couch where she has miraculously stashed a pack of baby wipes. She takes two out, using one to clean the both of them before she bundles it into the clean one and discards of it back onto the table to be disposed when she eventually gets the feeling back in her legs.

And it’s as soon as Poppy’s legs give way and she collapses into him that they both hear it - a soft wail carrying through the monitor behind the couch. Cries filling the space around them and bursting their bubble with an almighty pop!

“Told you,” Poppy mumbles into his neck, skin sticky with a soft sheen of sweat. “Won’t even let me get a hatty of my own,”

Nico scoffs, snorting out a loud chuckle that shakes where she rests on his chest, and despite her feigned irritation, she feels her cheeks puff out into a soft, unbreakable grin. “Like you’d have lasted 3 rounds.”

“What happened to me being very talented?” She pouts, mustering whatever strength she has left to push herself up, swinging a leg back over and moving to stand, only for him to grasp back at her, pulling her until her back falls into the plush of the couch.

“Talented, Poppy, not super human,” he chuckles, standing from the cushions and tucking himself back into his briefs. “I’ve got her.”

“It’s probably wind, I changed and fed her before she went down.”

He presses one last kiss to Poppy’s head before heavy feet carry him down the hall toward their bedroom, where their daughter’s crib is temporarily positioned until she starts to sleep a little further through the night. He doesn’t bother flicking the light on as he enters, able to follow his muscle memory straight over to where she is without tripping over his own feet, and he lifts her as soon as he can, cooing at her as she cries into his chest.

“I’ve got you, Chäferli,” he mutters as he rocks her gently, large hand completely encompassing where he can feel her back through her sleeping bag. “Daddy’s here,”

He reaches over to shut off the monitor before he ambles over to his and Poppy’s bed, sitting with his daughter still clutched to his chest, little hiccups coming out as his hand tries to work up her wind.

“Got yourself all worked up, huh?” He asks, so deep into his routine of talking to her about anything and everything that he no longer second guesses it. “My little bug, you’re okay.”

It takes a good few minutes to calm her down, to the point that Nico thinks she might even be hungry and he’ll have to call Poppy in, wiggling a finger between her lips to see if she latches on, but he continues to pat and rub at her back until she burps, and her cries turn into little coos, that turn into soft pants with wide, sparkling eyes staring up at him in wonder.

He looks down at her in the same way, dark eyes flitting across her every feature. Across the soft but thick head of hair, the crazy long eyelashes, the puffy lips and the little button nose.

She looks so much like Poppy that he feels his chest ache every time he looks at her - but it’s a good kind of ache, a longing and content kind of ache, that only aches to remind him of everything he stands to lose if he doesn’t work hard enough to keep it.

“Gromi told me you were charming everybody at daddy’s work,” he tells her with a soft smile, the pad of his finger pressing at the tip of her nose. “Says she’s gonna have to show you off around the city on her own tomorrow.”

Tiny fingers reach up to clasp around his, holding on and clutching with a grip he’s sure wasn’t so firm that morning when he had said his goodbyes.

“Careful, bug,” he tells her, “You hold Papi’s hand too long and he won’t let you go.”

Wide eyes gleam back at him, and he watches in awe as they start to crinkle in the corners.

He becomes all too aware of the hammering of his heart, and lays her beside him on the bed in fears that the echoing thud of it beating against his chest might disturb her. He curls up beside her, making sure she’s flat as he gets himself comfortable, and just lays there for a good few minutes, watching her as she watches him.

There isn’t a feeling in the world that compares to this, he thinks. He could score a hundred hat-tricks, have a million people chanting his name, and it won’t come close to how adored he feels in this moment, how proud he feels to have played any part in making a little human so perfect and beautiful.

He leans forward, kissing softly at her puffy cheek, careful not to press too hard that she feels the scratch of his moustache, and he relishes the little squeal of what he hopes is delight she gives in return.

Poppy gives it 20 minutes before she decides to venture through to their bedroom, having cleaned up and busied herself sterilising bottles so they’re ready for Katja to come pick up in the morning. It’s been a rare occurrence lately that Nico has had his one-on-one time with their daughter, him being so busy with training and their trip to Florida - and he wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t fess up to the ways in which it gets him down, but she knows he feels like he’s missing a lot.

She changes so much day to day - discovers so much about the world around her - and as much as Poppy tries to save things for him to see on his own, tries to find the balance between sharing the little moments she gets with him and letting him experience them for himself, she knows there’s nothing she can do to keep that nagging voice at bay.

He’s always been that way, unable to completely silence the thoughts that tell him no matter what he does, it isn’t enough.

He’d even done it tonight - his first career hat-trick, him being the first Swiss-born player to score a natural hat-trick, a stadium filled with fans chanting his name, dominating a team the Devils hadn’t beat at home in close to 10 years - and it hadn’t been his best performance.

She would gladly spend the rest of her life convincing him he’s good enough, she thinks.

Her and their little Bug being the ones who get to welcome him home after a night like tonight? She doesn’t know what she did in a past life to get the Gods on her side like this, but she’d do it again a thousand times over.

As her feet pad softly down the hall toward their room, she listens out for the soft voice she usually has the pleasure of eavesdropping on when she thinks he doesn’t know she’s hovering on the other side of the door. A soft voice that tells their little girl exaggerated stories from his day about her uncles, about his games, about whatever he got up to while he was away and what he brought back for her from his travels. But this time, it’s quiet - the peaceful kind of quiet that wraps around her like a blanket, tranquil and warming as she pushes the door open and steps into the room.

Nico is curled up on his side of the bed, on top of the covers, and his arm is draped gently over their daughter’s sleeping bag, their faces inches apart as soft snores fall from their parted lips. She inches closer as quiet as she can manage, leaning over them and taking in their similar profiles - the gentle slope of their mirrored noses, dark lashes framing closed eyes that are turning darker to match her daddy’s day by day.

If anyone had told the Poppy of last November that this is where she would be now - that this is where she’d be with Nico - she never in a million years would have believed it.

He has transformed her life in such little time that she can barely remember the before. Can barely remember a night she fell asleep in any other bed, by any other side, or woke up to anyone else. Can barely remember feeling anything close to this kind of happiness, this kind of content.

It’s like he’s introduced her to a whole new level of feelings. Ones she struggles to describe, like there’s no word in the English language that could possibly convey what he means to her.

Maybe his language has a word for it. Something that she’s never heard before, but just sounds right. Like she knew it somewhere much deeper than her brain allowed her access. She’ll have to ask him, tomorrow - when they finally have a morning to themselves and she can work up the energy to crawl out from under the sheets with him.

A part of her wishes she could take a snapshot of this moment - could send it back in time to the Poppy who never thought this kind of life would ever find her. The Poppy who was drifting, coasting, floating, afraid of landing on her own two feet and having to drag them for the rest of time through unfamiliar territories. The Poppy who pushed down her ever expanding adoration for the man currently cuddled up to their entire life in the bed they share, who convinced herself he could never possibly feel the same way, and wasted years of her life when she could have had this.

But another part of her thinks, what’s the point?

She has him, now.

She’ll have him forever.

She allows herself to watch for a minute as they take deep breaths in sync, all the post-game tension in Nico’s body long melted away, before she quietly shuffles over to the bathroom to get herself ready for bed.

She manages to make her way back over in the dark without stumbling, by some miracle, and reaches over to pick her baby girl up without interrupting her sleep, standing beside her crib and rocking her a little just to make sure she’s still fully drifted off - relishing the feeling of soft puffs of air falling into her neck as she cradles her.

Nico must wake at the loss of contact, instincts kicking in immediately when he can no longer feel the little body that had been resting under his protective arm, and when Poppy looks back over, she can see the reflective glint in his eyes as he watches her - soft and adoring and tooth-achingly sweet.

Instead of putting her down, she bounces gently on her feet back over to Nico’s side of the bed, sitting beside him as he shuffles up, and the two of them just watch their daughter as she sleeps.

For all the times they have been warned that this bliss is temporary, that it’s just a phase, Poppy can’t see it ending for as long as Nico looks at her like this. Like he has the entire world sat in front of him.

“She was smiling at me before,” he whispers as he repositions himself, legs spread so that Poppy can sit between them. “Was trying to get her to calm down, and she was just looking straight at me with those big sparkly eyes and she smiled right at me.”

“She was doing it a little when we got home, earlier.” Poppy whispers back, hoping he doesn’t mind her raining on his parade a little to tell this story, “We just caught your interview on TV after the game, and there was this close up of you, and she smiled so big, Nico. She never smiles like that for anybody.”

“That’s ‘cause you snitch on her and tell everyone it’s gas.”

“I don’t want anyone else thinking they’re special.”

“But I am?” He asks, reaching to swipe the back of his finger softly against her cheek, the soft moonlight sifting into the room reflecting off of the ring on his finger, the quick glimmer enough to catch Poppy’s eye, to distract her so much that she can only hum in response, lips curving into a tender smile.

“Yeah,” she breathes, the tranquility of the room a stark contrast to the way her heart erupts into thunderous applause for him - akin to that of the stadium full of fans earlier that night. Thousands of voices chanting his name, singing his praises, cheering him on for all the glory he brought to their night. He brings that to Poppy, tenfold, every day. “You’re really special.”

He leans over their sleeping daughter to press a loving kiss to Poppy’s lips, careful not to disturb the little angel between them, and Poppy kisses him straight back, fervent but fleeting.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” she mutters into his mouth, careful not to invest too much of herself into another moment they’ll swiftly get interrupted from.

“You gonna show me in the morning?” He mumbles back, their lips still touching, noses pressed together, his hand still cradling her face. She nods, and he feels her cheeks round into his palm. “Gonna give me that hatty you promised?”

“Gonna give you whatever you want.”

“Another baby, Frau?”

She scoffs, swallowing down the fizzing feeling at the back of her throat the nickname.

“Ask me again after your next hat-trick.”

#nico hischier #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier smut #nico hischier x oc #nico hischier fanfiction #*writing #*oys #I'm beyond caring about the amount of spoilers for the next few chapters in here what am I supposed to do #NOT write domestic hischier family after the other night?????#he literally begged and pleaded with me to write this #ANYWAY I finally got to write actual dad!nico this was so fun #I might let him make ME juno #I feel like his hatty really played second fiddle to me just writing how in love with each other these two are lmao #ALSO I FORGOT TO WRITE IT ABOVE BUT S/O AGAIN TO RORY!!! AS ALWAYS!!!! SHE IS MY SOUNDBOARD FOR EVERYTHING AND I LOVE HER

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arcane-vagabond · 2 days ago

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Meet Me at the Sea: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the at his family's summer home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but now there are bodies washing up on shore and you're starting to lose pockets of time. Bob and his friends are acting strange. Is it fear, or do they know more than they're letting on?

Content Warning: Nothing major. Allusion to neglectful parents, Death of a grandmother. Please let me know if I need to add anything!

Word Count: 1.5k

Series Masterlist

Music poured out from the music box that sat atop your dresser, the sweet melody filling the room easing some of the tension from your shoulders and neck. It was a small thing, something your grandmother had found while on one of her many antiquing trips. Luminescent shells decorating the sides, edges traced in gold, gave the illusion of something magical. It reminded you somewhat of the mermaid figurine she kept placed atop her mantle. She had left it to you when she passed a couple years prior, and it sat proudly on your desk for all to see as they entered your room.

Finals had been stressful, but they were finally over and you had the diploma waiting safely at your childhood home along with most of your belongings. Your parents had driven out to North Carolina for your graduation ceremony, celebrating with you for the weekend before heading back to the Midwest. They had announced their intention to travel for the summer, an announcement you were more than familiar with by this point as they had taken every opportunity to travel since you had been old enough to stay with family over the summer. Once you were eighteen and off to college, they had taken to traveling throughout the year as well. It didn’t bother you all that much—not really, anyway.

You were an only child, and while you knew you were loved, you often wondered if your parents considered you a burden rather than a beloved child, and you had spent most of your summers with your maternal grandmother. Grandma Madge had been so fun and full of life, and you had been closer to her than any of her other grandchildren, though you had fond memories of playing on your grandfather’s boat with your older cousins in the Florida heat, the ocean spray hitting your face and easing the sting of the summer heat. You had been closest with Bubbles, your cousin closest in age to you, and the two of you had been attached at the hip during those summers, calling each other often during the months apart. Of course, Bubbles wasn’t her real name, just like Skipper wasn’t yours. Names given to you by older family members, Bubbles because of the nervous tick she had of blowing bubbles into her drink while lost in thought, Skipper given to you by your grandfather because of the way you commanded your cousins around on the boat.

You may have been the youngest, but you were a natural born leader according to the older man.

You and Bubbles had drifted apart during high school, preoccupied with friends you saw every day and the different dreams the both of you pursued. Bubbles chased a dream of writing the world’s best-selling novel, and you chased a dream instilled in you by your grandmother.

You supposed it was natural to be drawn to the ocean. How many people do you hear lament about their yearning for a beach vacation? You weren’t just interested in the beach, however. No, you were fascinated by the fauna that called the body of water home, wanting to know all you could about it. You begged your parents to buy you every book available on the different creatures living beneath the waves, taking nearly weekly visits to the aquarium. You loved all the creatures, but your favorite had always been the stingrays. The little cow-nosed rays glided through the water, racing up to you for pets. They were like little water puppies, and you spent hours with your hand in the water petting them until your parents had to drag you away to finish looking at the rest of the exhibits. It was on one of those early trips that you procured your closest confidante, Rusty—a stuffed cow-nosed stingray who you kept with you as much as possible.

Rusty had been with you during every embarrassing moment, every bad test, and had even moved with you halfway across the country to attend Duke University in North Carolina. He hadn’t been your only friend for long, as during that first week of classes you met a boy who you would know as your greatest friend four years later.

Bob Floyd was a North Carolina native, having come from the small, island town appropriately named North Island. Bob told you all the stories about growing up in that small, island town, even inviting you to spend holidays with him, but you had politely refused. You still spent that time with your grandmother, keeping her company as much as possible after your grandfather had died your sophomore year of high school.

Grandma Madge had passed at the beginning of your final year, and you had considered taking time off to grieve. It had been Bubbles of all people who had called you up to remind you that your grandmother would have wanted you to continue and finish earning your degree, and so though it pained you to push on, keep going you had.

Now, you were at a loss with what to do for your final summer before starting your PhD program at Duke’s graduate school. Finals were wrapping up, and you found yourself confronted with the possibility of returning home for a summer spent alone while your parents were god only knew where.

“When are you gonna take me up on my offer to just spend the summer at my folk’s place?” Bob huffed in a laugh. You rolled your eyes playfully at him from where you lay sprawled out on his bedspread, several textbooks scattered around you. Bob was seated at his desk, textbooks also cracked open as the two of you studied for finals. “I’m serious, Skipper. It’s senior year, and I’d really like if my best friend would come hang out with me for the summer.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you started, stopping when Bob scoffed, shooting you a scowl.

“You’re never a bother. And where’s that same attitude when you’re over here eating all of my poptarts?”

“That’s different,” you giggled.

Bob glared playfully at you. “I beg to differ. Besides, you’d be doin’ me a favor. I’m always so bored when I’m at home. I could really use the company.”

“Wow, what a ringing endorsement,” you joked, Bob rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have friends?”

“I do,” he conceded with a grimace, “but Nat and Mickey are the only two that are at least somewhat normal, and I always feel like a third wheel. It’d be nice to have another person there to even things out.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, pen tapping against your notebook as you considered his proposal. It would definitely beat a summer in the Midwest. Bob scooted forward, putting on his best pleading look, blue eyes dark and round as he pleaded with you.

“C’mon,” he urged, lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. “Pretty please?”

You sighed. “I’ll think about it, alright? I want to see what my parents have planned.”

As it would turn out, your parents had planned a trip abroad for the whole summer, and you were left with no other option but to accept Bob’s proposal.

“Don’t sound so happy,” he had laughed. “You love the ocean, and the house is right on the beach.”

“I am happy,” you countered, loading your bags into the back of his car. “But, I’m worried that I’ll just be an imposition.”

“For the thousandth time,” Bob said with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “you are not an imposition. My parents love you, remember? Sometimes I think they like you more than they like me. Do you really think they would have let me invite you if they didn’t? Hell, I had to fight’em to keep’em from inviting you themselves.”

Bob’s parents were a sweet couple. Susan was a stay-at-home mom turned entrepreneur, while Richard was a tech developer, and both absolutely adored their only son. They had latched onto you the second Bob had introduced you to them during one of the home football games they had driven up to see, and now they considered you the daughter they never had.

“How did they react when you told them I was coming?” You asked him with a grin. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Pretty sure there’s a mountain of balloons waiting for us when we get there,” he mused, closing the door to the trunk. The two of you rounded the different sides of the car before getting in. Once your seatbelt was fastened, you looked up to see Bob giving you a peculiar look. You returned it with a confused one, and he looked down pointedly at your lap.

“Rusty does not sit in the back,” you said, hugging the stuffed ray closer. Bob let out a little laugh as he held his hands up in surrender.

“You sure you remembered everything?” He asked you as he started the car. You nodded, shifting in your seat to get more comfortable.

“I’m sure.”

“Alright then,” he grinned, turning to you. “Let’s get goin’.”

A/N: Here it is! I told y’all I was gonna rewrite it lol But I’m finally getting around to it!

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do tag lists, but you can follow my side blog ( @arcanevagabond-library ) and turn on post notifications for all updates! You can also find my stories on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

#mmats #meet me at the sea #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x y/n #hangman x you

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koryxx · 5 hours ago

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gotta love the people in the notes doing the thing op is criticizing. “that’s just life, things change and you need to adapt” and “friendships have ebbs and flows, they aren’t static” and “people get swept up in romantic relationships but will come back when they realize their romantic partner cannot fill their every need” and “i love my best friend but i have a romantic partner and they do come before my best friend that’s just how it is.”

babes. we should not just accept this as normal and okay and healthy. analyze why it’s so absurd and confusing to you for someone to suggest maybe you should value your friends and maybe you don’t need to have a hierarchy of relationships. friendships are indeed not static, but “i have a romantic partner so now you don’t matter” isn’t the natural and normal ebbs and flows of friendship, it’s the amatonormative belief that friends are only important until romance comes into the picture—that friendship is a mere placeholder for the real thing.

(ever notice how common it is in media for someone to have an established “best friend” but then that title goes to their romantic partner to emphasize their elevated importance? this is a reflection of the belief that your romantic partner not only has to be the most important relationship, but should also encompass all kinds of relationships within it—your sexual/romantic partner and best friend wrapped in one—an approach to relationships that ultimately dooms both platonic and romantic relationships by “expecting too little” from the former and “expecting too much” from the latter. also, if “best friend” is less than “spouse,” why is it imperative that your spouse also be your best friend?)

the implication of folks being clingy or codependent or unrealistic for wanting their friends to not sideline their relationship of years for a romantic partner they met two seconds ago is the problem. we should be making time and space in our lives for all of our relationships, not just the romantic ones. because that’s what it is healthy and fair. and if you sideline your friends to make your romantic relationship the center of your world, only to realize that your romantic partner can’t possibly (and shouldn’t have to) fill all of your needs and you actually need friends in your life in a meaningful way, well, don’t expect them to have just been waiting around for you to realize their value.

and realize that this isn’t just a thing on a personal level. it’s not as simple as "oh your best friend prioritizes her husband over you? just make him your new best friend too! problem solved!" it’s bigger than that. romantic relationships, particularly marriages, are systematically privileged over other relationships: “amatonormativity intersects with other forms of oppression, especially gay and lesbian oppression and women’s oppression, to impose steep costs. amatonormativity is itself systematic in a way characteristic of oppression: legal penalties and discrimination interlock with social pressures and discrimination, stereotyping in the media, workplace discrimination, consumer pricing, and children’s education.” statistics show that married couples are less connected to their friends, family, and community than those who are single, and that not having a network of relationships outside of romance can lead to poorer health outcomes. this is more than your attempts to make people look ridiculous for being upset that their friend's spouse comes before them.

and more importantly, realize that romance being the most important kind of love is a modern concept. there are point in history and different cultures where platonic relationships were not so degraded—where they were treated with the love and passion and care and prioritization that has now come to be reserved for romantic love; where they were considered and treated as beloved family, not disposable side characters; where they would take on roles now only associated with family or spouses; where they were even referred to with language now considered exclusively romantic. so the argument of “of course romantic partners come first, that’s just how life is” doesn't hold up. that’s “how it is” because that’s how people make it. it is not naturally occurring; it doesn’t just play out like that.

we can change it if we so choose. if you don’t want your friends to have such importance in your life, just say that. don’t try to rewrite history or make people out to be dramatic or too much for wanting the people in their lives to value them. (and even if you don’t want that for your life, you should not only full heartedly support others doing so, but also advocate for changes that allow others to live the lives they want without unnecessary societal and legal barriers.)

if anyone is interested, minimizing marriage: morality, marriage, and the law by elizabeth brake (the book “amatonormativity” is coined in) and the other significant others: reimagining life with friendship at the center by rhaina cohen are good reads on this topic.

being on the aro spectrum would be a lot easier if being single wasn't made to feel like a literal death sentence

#text #reblog #amatonormativity #long post #replies

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girlactionfigure · 2 days ago

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Human Rights and Human Wrongs

URI KURLIANCHIK

“It’s impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means… Horror has a face, and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies.”

— Apocalypses Now

There has been a lot of talk about the "dehumanization of the Palestinians," so let's talk about this for a minute.

First of all, what does it mean? In plain English, it means Jews no longer have pity for Arabs who get hurt in the war they started to eradicate the Jewish people in the Middle East. This is mostly true. Even the eyes of the most gentle Israelis light up when they see a rocket hitting a Hezbollah launcher in South Lebanon or a building block used by the butchers of Hamas demolished in Beit Lahia.

It wasn't like that until recently. How did we come to this?

When I was a boy, Israel was a leftist country. We had huge peace rallies, the Oslo accords, all our war movies were of the insipid "shooting and crying" genre. We even had a subject called "peace" in school! People like me were viewed as crazy marginals (except back then, I also supported the two state solution, all civilized people did). To even suggest that not all societies wanted peace was seen as vulgar and uncouth. Nice people cried for the innocent dead on both sides. We could forgive the Arabs for killing our children but not for making us kill theirs. Etc… etc…

This euphoria of peace born out of the Oslo Accords was followed by decades of barbarism from the Arabs that eroded the pity reserves of the Jewish people.

Yes, pity is a resource, and it's finite.

This wasn't the result of slanted reporting or anti-Arab propaganda. The media was firmly left-leaning and went out of its way to defend the Arabs after each new atrocity that was difficult to imagine was done by humans, and the widespread celebrations that followed. More and more, people asked themselves, “where is this peace partner? What kind of a society are we expected to live side by side with?”

Jews were torn to pieces with bare hands, baby skulls were smashed with rocks, little girls were butchered in their beds, children were massacred in schools, in discotheques, on buses. People were mutilated, castrated, crippled; not as collateral damage but meticulously, with sadistic precision, by an enemy that seemed to always prefer to go after defenseless civilians, that seemed to revel in atrocity.

And each time, the Jack the Rippers responsible for these horrors were celebrated as heroes by the Arab street and their progressive allies. No one stood up and said, "guys, there are laws even in war." No, when it came to hurting us, it was always, "by any means necessary." The laws were there to prevent us from protecting ourselves, never to protect us, and “resistance” often seemed like nothing more than an excuse to indulge in sadism.

Time after time, year after year, decade after decade; the Arabs produced images of horror that even the most progressive Israeli peacenik couldn't spin into anything other than what it was: the portrait of a savage society.

The change didn't occur at once.

People first started voicing opinions that were outside the Overton window, only to be shut down in polite society. Then polite society started shrugging because it ran out of arguments.

Then October 7 came, the ultimate atrocity exhibition, the ultimate barbarity, recorded in vivid details and spread so ubiquitously there was no chance anyone missed it. Shocked and hurt, the Jews who still had pity learned that the Arabs and their progressive allies had no pity or even empathy for them.

"You made it up! You did it to yourself! It was only military targets!" and other forms of sadistic gaslighting were hurled smugly at a grieving nation. "Where are the 40 beheaded babies, haha? With or without baking powder, har har?"

The message was simple: "No matter what happens to you, you deserve no pity. Your very existence is a crime."

For many, this was the final straw.

This was the moment their last shred of compassion for the enemy evaporated and their hearts became hard. Hearts of survival. Hearts of war. This is what the pseudointellectual farts mean when they talk about, “the dehumanization of the Palestinians.” The enemy finally managed to push Israeli society into not caring about the enemy. It took 40 years of hard word but we’re finally there.

Will this pity ever return, or have we finally transformed into a new kind of nation? I don't know.

What I do know is that when you treat someone without pity for decades, don't expect them to be compassionate towards you forever.

Commit enough inhumanities and you'll be dehumanized.

#Israel #Palestine #Arabs #Jews #War

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stosmanthus · 3 days ago

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I’m ready. I’m ready for my ZoLu jealousy rant. Part 1 of 2.

[BTW, this rant is also a behind-the-scenes look at the madness that came over me when I wrote the unsubtly titled fic, “Four Times Zoro Did Not Get Jealous (and the One Time Sanji Confronted Him About It).” Prior reading of the fic is not necessary for enjoyment of my insanity analysis.]

At its core, I believe jealousy arises from 1. a special regard and 2. insecurity. You don’t get jealous over someone you don’t care about. And if you’re confident in the other person’s feelings for you, there’s not much to be jealous about.

With our resident swordsman, he definitely holds Luffy in high regard, meaning there would be reason to feel jealous over Luffy. The question then becomes, has Zoro ever been given a reason to feel insecure about his place in Luffy’s life?

My stance on this is a solid NO.

I believe Zoro knows his worth, partly because he has ALWAYS worked hard to earn his place beside Luffy. He trains constantly and goes above and beyond to do everything he can to stay by Luffy’s side and be Luffy’s “wing.” And Luffy has shown time and time again that he trusts Zoro implicitly in pretty much everything except for directions. Zoro is Luffy’s voice of reason, moral support, enabler, and rabid attack dog rolled into one muscular package. Luffy appreciates the crap out of Zoro, and he has never hesitated to show it. He calls for Zoro first, is always delighted to see him, and gives Zoro the Sabo face-glomp treatment (TM) after just two weeks apart. Yes, all Straw Hats are created equal, but I’ll fight every One Piece fan to defend my view that in the eyes of canon Luffy, Zoro may just be a tad more special.

My point is, Luffy has never given Zoro a reason to be jealous, and Zoro is secure enough in his position within Luffy’s life that he doesn’t feel threatened by anyone else. He’s been petty, sure, like his insistence that he is worth twice as many men as Sanji, but I do think that is just Zoro’s competitiveness. Because why on earth would Zoro be jealous over Luffy? Who can even come between them??!

Don’t get me wrong, I like to indulge in a jealous Zoro fic any time. In fact, if you know any, send a link my way pls! At my core, however, I don’t think Zoro is the jealous type. Not over Luffy at least. Shippers of other Zoro pairings? You do you.

However! There’s always a caveat. I do believe Zoro gets possessive, but in the way that all Straw Hats get possessive over Luffy. Because Luffy is theirs. And when Luffy nearly kills himself to save a whole kingdom, I think they get a little protective over their captain, and they’d want to keep him to themselves for a while. Ultimately, they know they can’t. Luffy is meant for the world to love, and all the Straw Hats know this. Zoro knows this more than anyone, having been THE FIRST.

So at the end of an adventure, when the fight is over and adrenaline leaves him, I think Zoro frets and anguishes so much that he wants to lock up his captain in a room where nobody else can take another piece of him, because Luffy has given enough, dammit. But Zoro doesn’t do that, because Luffy would not want him to.

In summary, the conclusion of my book report is that no, Zoro doesn’t get jealous.

(But what about Luffy?! That’s coming in Part 2. I need to first write another 1000 words of my next fic.)

#zolu #luzo #one piece #writing motivation #zoro x luffy #jealousy #or not idk #my headcanons #rant part 1 of 2 #jealousy rant part 1

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princesssarisa · 2 days ago

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I just came across a YouTube video complaining about the changes made to the musical of Wicked from the original book.

One of its main arguments is that in the musical, Glinda is too easily forgiven – both by Elphaba and by the show's narrative – for working with the Wizard, not to mention the other morally questionable things she does.

Now, I haven't read the book, or analyzed every word of the musical's script and lyrics, but I'm not sure if I agree with that claim or not.

I agree with what @cto10121 has written in the past, that maybe the musical focuses too much on Glinda when it's supposed to be Elphaba's story, but I don't think the show glosses over Glinda's flaws or bad decisions. I've always thought she was a very morally gray character who has a redemption arc in the end. And she most definitely pays a hard price for her mistakes, ending up in power but all alone on a personal level, thinking the two people she loved most are dead because of her.

But just from scrolling a little on both Tumblr and YouTube, I think the musical's fandom might idealize Glinda, whether the musical itself does or not. I don't know how widespread it is, but I've definitely felt as if the fandom idealizes her entire relationship with Elphaba, and they do leap to defend her whenever someone misguidedly calls her "the real wicked witch"... sometimes with defenses I don't buy.

Again, again, and again, I've heard people say "The message is that there are two sides to every story and no one is all good or all bad."

(Which of course is true to an extent, but which IMHO, paints false moral equivalency between Elphaba's side of the story and both Glinda's and the Wizard's.)

I've also seen "The whole point is that Elphaba starts out as the heroine while Glinda starts out as a mean girl, but Glinda becomes a better person while Elphaba becomes a worse person over the course of the story, until they become the characters we know from The Wizard of Oz. Ultimately Glinda is the more heroic one."

(That's... not quite the way I would describe their arcs.)

And, most thought-provokingly of all, I've seen this:

"Glinda deserves more respect for her intelligence. At first we're made to think she's a dumb blonde, but it turns out that she's very clever and shrewd, and her claim that a good image is what matters most in society turns out to be totally right. It's by working within the system and pleasing the Wizard and the people of Oz that Glinda gains power, which lets her oust the Wizard and Morrible in the end, while Elphaba's rebellion crashes and burns."

Even if part of the show's message is "Society values a good image more than real merit or truth," aren't we meant to view that fact as a bad thing that needs to change, rather than admiring Glinda for knowing it all along and benefitting from it?

This reminds me of commentary I've read about Amy March from Little Women. A character who has a lot in common with Glinda in some ways, though without the political aspect. I like Amy and I don't think she deserves the hate she traditionally gets from Jo fans, but some attempts to defend her annoy me. Namely the fans who praise her for conforming to society better than Jo does: i.e. "Amy is the smartest, most mature March sister because she knows how to please her social betters and make the system work in her favor – unlike Jo, whose rebellious ways get her nowhere and who needs to learn to be a proper docile lady for her own good." Again, I like Amy as a character, but as a neurodivergent feminist who relates to Jo's independence and her failure to conform, I don't like that talk.

And Amy doesn't serve a fascist regime.

I'd like to know what bigger Wicked fans than I am think of all this. Does the show absolve Glinda too much, or if not, does the fandom? Or do both the show and fandom have a more-or-less accurate view of both her flaws and her virtues?

#wicked #musical #glinda #poll #fandom #little women #amy march #wicked part 2 spoilers

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chaos-of-the-abyss · 2 days ago

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i mean, i definitely don't disagree that beren and luthien -- and the rest of the lotr universe if we're being honest -- is full of misogyny and sexism. from the characters to the settings to a good part of the messaging, all of it operates from a patriarchal worldview that reflects the mindset of its writer. everyone who reads tolkien's works should be aware of that and it's absolutely fair to criticize it. (though i will say: a trend i've noticed in fandom is criticizing that the misogyny only in the characters/stories one dislikes and wants to prove as "bad," while ignoring it in others.)

i don't think your particular criticism (that luthien should have easily been able to take on celegorm and curufin, and they never should have posed a threat to her) works with what we're given in-story though. luthien is never presented as "powerful" in the typical action-hero sense. it's perseverance, guile, cleverness, and sheer nerve that pulls her through against sauron and morgoth, not physical power. i also don't think it's quite accurate to reduce celegorm and curufin to random dudes. those two are, if not war veterans, certainly battle-experienced by the time of beren and luthien, and they've seen and been involved in a lot of fighting: the first kinslaying (albeit their side was much better armed than their opponents and received reinforcements from fingon), the initial skirmishes of the exilic noldor with morgoth's forces upon their arrival in beleriand, and the dagor bragollach. i believe in some versions they also help cover orodreth's retreat from minas tirith, which similarly suggests some type of military involvement. and i'm absolutely not going to be the person that goes "uwu let female characters be feminine!!1!!11!" -- the argument can, and should, be made that we should get more female warriors in the lotr verse. that's definitely one of my main frustrations; of course we have women like eowyn, haleth, and emeldir, all of whom we know can fight -- but i could always use more female warriors (and more gnc women period) in my fiction. however, in frame of what we know about luthien as she is canonically, the idea that she should have been able to easily overpower celegorm and curufin doesn't hold up.

regarding her putting morgoth to sleep, what we need to keep in mind is that luthien tricks him first, and tells him she wants to sing to him as a minstrel. then it's morgoth's own arrogance and his indulgence of his desire to corrupt luthien that keeps him from noticing her true intentions, giving her the window of opportunity to put him to sleep. she didn't just open the act by immediately sedating him, and i don't think she could have. her magic doesn't allow her to just put people to sleep willy-nilly; the circumstances have to be right, or it has to be one of those moments of, for lack of a better way to put it, cosmic intervention (like when she put carcharoth to sleep). none of that was the case for when she met celegorm and curufin. what i'm trying to say is, despite how she's perceived (often along with resounding complaints about how she's such a "mary sue"), luthien is not an untouchable powerful demigod with a track record of easily kicking aside everyone that gets in her way. many of her antagonists far outclass her in terms of "might". but she's brave, confident enough in herself that she believes she can pull off what everyone else tells her is impossible, and resourceful and astute enough to optimize what she has going for her to her best advantage despite the odds being stacked against her -- and that's ultimately why she succeeds. which was part of tolkien's intention, imo, as it fits best with the lotr verse's themes: it's not the "big," "powerful," people that pull off the most spectacular feats. it's the people who have estel, who don't give in to despair, who have the courage and tenacity that so many others don't.

also, regarding the "enchantment" idea: another reason it puts a bad taste in my mouth is that nowhere is any magic in the legendarium ascribed the ability to make people fall in love/lust with the user. even morgoth, the most powerful of the valar, can't do that; there's simply no reason to think that luthien should be able to. and i do understand wanting to explore her character more beyond her story with beren, but forcibly shoehorning her into a position -- against all indications given in the narrative about her, about celegorm and curufin, about the extent to which magic in the universe is capable of influencing someone -- in which she's the one at fault for a male character trying to sexually assault her is not the way to go about that. to be frank, the whole concept of making female characters who by all accounts in the source material are perfectly decent people, ~more morally grey~ because it's ~feminist~, particularly when the process of doing so exonerates a male character for his sexually predatory behavior toward her, and in the case with luthien, flips the situation so that she becomes the predatory one... i don't think it's feminist in the least. there are better ways to give female characters more agency and depth beyond their male love interests than making contrived scenarios in which she becomes responsible for the actions of men who victimize her

as blatantly misogynistic as the "luthien enchanted celegorm" theory/headcanon/whatever they call it is, i do think an interesting concept is a celegorm who convinces himself that luthien enchanted him to explain his own abhorrent behavior, because even he can't quite accept how low he's gone -- i.e. he tells himself that the lust and desire to possess luthien that at least significantly motivated his actions toward her was a result of some maiarin enchantment on her part. it doesn't quite align with my personal reading of the character (though it's not wholly incompatible with it either), but celegorm with his own hellfire-adjacent musical number would be a hell of an aesthetic

#self rb #but don't get me wrong i do think luthien should have skinned celegorm and curufin alive

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metalomagnetic · 19 hours ago

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Hi! Do you have any characters that you find slightly similar to Loki or Voldemort/Tom Riddle in terms of personality or backstory or just vibes?

For example, as huge fan of frostiron I LOVE Loki. And after reading fics about him for years I can’t help but notice small similarities between him and Sirius. They’re NOT the same, not at all. But I personally see a lot of stuff that they have in common. Both characters are very prideful, strong magicians, black sheep of their family, have a dark side but ultimately end up doing more good than bad. And that’s if we include both canon and fanon. It’s okay if you disagree, that’s just my personal perception)

For Voldemort I was unable to find any sort of counterpart🤷‍♀️

Soo, my question remains. I am very curious as to what you have in mind;)

I assume you mean Loki from the movies; I am unfortunately unfamiliar with him. The only Loki I know is the one from Norse mythology, and I don't remember very much about him, either. I do remember he was a shapeshifter, like many gods, so I suppose he has that in common with Sirius! I can't speak further of similarities, that's practically all I remember.

As for Voldemort...I don't know. The Evil Queen from Snow White? 😂 They both hear a prophecy warning of their downfall and they act on it and start beef with kids. And the kids end up surviving and winning with the power of love.

If we just take canon V at face value, then he's similar to all fairytale villains. Or to Palpatine, I suppose.

If we look at Voldemort as a more human character, not just Evil TM, then I could see some similarities with Magneto from X-men(at least from one or two universes of that big world): the hate for the muggles/people without mutations that steams from their childhood, their lives were impacted by ww2, both ridiculously powerful, both claiming they fight for wizards/mutants. Also they both have a badass lady as a second in command.

But, ofc, Magneto is allowed to be human, when Voldemort is doomed by the narative and his position as villain in children story. While Magneto is clearly a villain and loves genocide, he at least thinks he's doing the right thing for his kind; Voldemort is just there to be bad.

For Sirius, you can make a case about Aragorn, I suppose? Both come from ancient, noble, rich lineage, but they shy away from the burden of it, they're both good (but rough) men, they are protectors for their respective protagonists, they would die for Harry/Frodo, and they're both fighting this supreme evil that is threatening the world. They both obey basically God on Earth (Albus and Gandalf).

I think it's easier to find Sirius similarities, I can think of some in A song of Ice and Fire, but it's harder for Voldemort because he barely has any 'meat' to his character in canon. He's just there as a lesson for kids, as an obstacle for Harry to overcome.

There is that saying that a story is only as good as it's villain, and it's true. If Harry Potter was anything other than a children's book, than it would be a very bad story, because the villain is just a prop. However, since it's for children, the rules are obviously different. Ironically, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is considered the best book in the series because it had a great villain- Sirius. That book is so beloved because for most of it we believed Sirius to be a villain, and he was real in a way Voldemort never is, he is human, and he is scary.

So it falls on us, the fandom, to give Voldemort something real, to turn him into a person, and we all go in slightly different directions, hence why it's so hard to find a counterpart for him in established literature/cinema.

#voldemort #Harry Potter

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glamourscat · 1 day ago

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¡Shidou’s hcs and character analysis!

tw// childhood trauma, violence, reference to possible SA in his past, my writing cause I didn’t proffered this

PHYSICAL TOUCH!! Friends, lovers or even just acquaintances, he has the bad habit of seeking touch, small or big doesn’t matter. From shoving to fidgeting. It’s different obviously base on the relationship you have with him. Are you two friends? Expect playful shoves, ruffling each other’s hair, if sat together legs or shoulders will touch casually. He is the type of person to laugh and slap your shoulder while laughing.

If you two are lovers: hand holding (he does that thing of rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand), kisses, hair ruffling, legs intertwined, hugs from the back, nibbling/biting. Pressing his forehead against yours. SQUEEZES. Especially if you have more fat on you, he would *love* it. The need to hold you close and squish your rolls or chub.

I personally see him as unlabelled. I know a lot like to hc him as gay. And it does make sense, but one can flirt with guys and it doesn’t erase the possibility of being into women too. That said, I do believe he has a preference for guys, especially aesthetically, but ultimately his choice of a partner would be base on mental compatibility and aesthetic attraction, no gender. I feel he is into someone who truly enjoys being their true self and doesn’t conform to society norms, more on this in a sec.

He is complex, as we see glimpses of this in the “egoist bible” and during his internal dialogue (like in the U20 arc). I don’t think he would be a bad boyfriend, but neither would he be perfect. Objectively speaking, he does have a rough, almost explosive side. But that’s a side he brings onto the football field. How he is outside of football we don’t really know. He is shown to be someone who values uniques, and also strength, complimenting other players strengths. He is not a demon, he just so happens to be a human with a deep complex personality. He seems to value peace in his life outside of football, which is something you don’t expect from him. Because he gets presented as this brute individual and yet he is the same who pops out this answers: “What made you cry recently?” At the end of the day when I become nothing, tears come out.

“What will you do on your last day on earth” Watch it as it reaches its end

“How would you spend your day off?” Be free from everything and become nothing

His answers are, intense, are they not? Which leads me to several thoughts. 1) He is very lonely. Using humour and anger to defend himself, a common trait of children who were abused, neglected in their childhood.

2) base on this, I feel in a relationship he would enjoy someone who has similar vibes to him but ultimately is different. Someone he can be chaotic with, someone he can laugh as loud as he wants, someone with who he can gossip and still have deep conversations at the same time. Ultimately, an artistic partner would be the best. Not only because he is into art, mostly as a way to cool down and shut down his brain, but because an artist or even a writer can see the world under different shades of colours rather than in greyscale. Classical introverted x extrovert duo, with the exception that the introvert individual becomes as extrovert as him when they are alone. His partner is his ancor. He will need to feel at peace from the turmoil inside of him.

3)his home life was not the happy kind. Now, this has been long speculated and I will give my 50 cents on the matter. Let’s analyse his favourite movie, manga and song:

Music > hide. Especially "Pink Spider"

Movie > "A Clockwork Orange"

Manga > "Chainsawman"

On the base line all three explore the darker sides of humanity, the need for personal freedom, and the consequences of defying societal norms. They create a raw and intense narrative about self-destruction, survival, and transformation.

But if we dive deeper > the movie mainly depicts SA, it’s a twist mix of violence, societal injustices and lack of free will… “Chainsaw man” it’s all about violence, power imbalance and manipulation. Denji was a tool from the start to end (again, lack of free will). The song, explored themes of internal chaos, the darkness in humanity, destruction and emotional turbulence and the psychological tool that that violence and abuse leaves on people. I mean… can it be any more obvious? His whole character is shown to be this brute, rude, violent individual but slowly we are being feed details into his insight. Like how deeply philosophical he is, artistic and yet he is genuinely over sexualised. Maybe is a reach, but I don’t think that movie, the song and the manga choice are casual. They are a mirror image into the possibility that his childhood was pretty much terrible. That his sexual comments, which come off as almost distasteful, and feel icky in a way, are a projection of what he went through. Trying to use a distorted sense of humour and the violence he grew up with, to shield himself from what’s his personal life and past.

Like when he was locked up, his reaction was intense. He was close to begging to be set free. Again— lack of freedom, he hates not being able to be free. Something could have been taken away from him in the past. Maybe is as simple as a culture thing— as we know Japan is a rather modest country with certain unspoken rules. Its traditional outlook on things such as gender and sexuality are the total opposite of Shidou’s persona. His appearance is loud, his personality is loud and it alls screams “look at me I’m here” and yet at the end of the day he is still a lonely being.

I recently reread the U20 chapter where he enters on the field. His inner monologue he uses biology (specifically fertilization) as an analogy to scoring. Many people interpret it as him making a connection to sex, but for me, it didn’t read as such. Maybe it’s my literature student nerd ass, but, I took from his inner monologue a sense of need in terms of leaving a mark onto this world. He speaks how art leaves a mark, so does books, buildings and obviously children, showing the family legacy. Proof that something existed before them.

Shidou feels that his legacy, his needs, are validated through scoring. He feels seen, people are cheering. He is leaving a mark. Which ultimately could be validating a lack of emotional attention he received when he was a child. To me, all of these references and the constant sexual innuendos are a meaning for something deeper. We saw how each character with a heavy backstory has a trait or something in them that screams “something is not right”. Like Rin’s personality being a result of what happened between him and Sae. Can’t think of anything else to add, maybe I will add something later. If you have any opinions, I am more than willing to read them!! Feel free to reblog/comment :))

#Glamourscatwriting #blue lock #shidou ryusei #shidou x reader #blue lock shidou #bllk shidou #shidou headcanons #character analysis #character angst #blue lock headcanons #bl Shidou #headcannons #my headcanons #anime and manga #blue lock manga

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hauntingofhouses · 2 days ago

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arcane s2 spoilers. another caitlyn critical rant because i have Thoughts and i'm Annoyed

can i just say i'm soooo annoyed at how the narrative treats ambessa as the worst most irredeemable person and the one true villain of the series while caitlyn who spent half of s2 as a tyrant in both piltover and zaun is just let off the hook despite them working together for most of that time.

"she didnt MEAN it" but she did do it. she terrorized the people of zaun, she was complicit. yes ambessa was using her but that's because she was so easy to use! ambessa barely had to do much manipulation, barely had to lift a finger for caitlyn to give the green light on all the tactics the militant regime used.

now, see, it's not like i'm AGAINST caitlyn redeeming herself. i'm not. i was ready for her to go down a dark path and for vi to pull her out of it. my gripe is with how it was executed. caitlyn did not deserve it, she didn't DO anything to actually work towards redemption and getting vi's forgiveness.

also caitlyn fans being so ready to just push all the blame onto ambessa is so frustrating because you know what. ambessa is an interesting character. and caitlyn's relationship with ambessa was also super interesting because it paralleled the mother-daughter relationships of caitlyn & counselor kiramman, and mel & ambessa. ambessa elevated caitlyn's character from something akin to stale bread dressed in a girlboss copaganda fit, to something actually intriguing to watch.

but of course all that is thrown away because the show apparently didn't have time to do a full caitlyn redemption arc, which would've further developed the character, while simultaneously unpacking the damage she did to zaun and to vi&jinx's relationship. but nope we didn't get that! instead she betrays ambessa off-screen for the sake of a stupid plot twist and because "she was loyal to vi all along!!!! that's the power of love!!!!" and like i love a good sappy wholesome "power of love" moment, but this wasn't it, man. this came out of nowhere and it just felt so jarring, automatically undoing all of caitlyn's development thus far (a negative arc is still character development). and not only does it somehow just undo all the damage she's done, but also just... brushes past it??? like that girl was wearing a whole ass villain cape and everything and we're just... gonna brush past that? okay.

and look. the thing is, i wouldn't be AS salty about this if the ENDING, at least, was different. like maybe if sevika got a word in during any part of act 3. or if the people of zaun were given more agency in rising up against her regime. OR MAYBE if jinx didn't have to DIE in order for CAITLYN to get her happy ending with vi. and yes, maybe jinx didn't actually die and she did manage to survive, but the people who love and care about her (sevika and ekko) are still left behind, unhappy, while she (presumably) left aboard the airship to who-knows-where. and as a side note i would also like to add that ekko is the fucking boy saviour, the MVP of the entire show who saved EVERYONE from viktor, yet he didn't get a happy ending but was left sitting there all alone, not even with his band of firelights! like come on!

but getting back on subject. the story didn't even show vi properly mourning or acknowledging the loss of her sister in the epilogue. instead more focus is given to caitlyn. no mention of jinx in that last caitvi scene. instead it focuses on caitvi's relationship ("are you still in this fight, violet? / "i'm the dirt under your nails, cupcake. nothing is gonna clean me out." even the episode title is taken from that line). season 2 featured caitlyn as a more major protagonist than vi, with the opening episode and even the closing scenes centering on her. and that, ultimately, is where so much of my frustration towards her character is coming from. it feels like the story of two sisters, vi & jinx, was superceded by caitlyn, and what was initially assumed to be paranoia-induced jealousy from jinx towards caitlyn in season 1 suddenly makes sense. caitlyn entered the picture and immediately jinx is forced out of it, in so many ways.

#arcane season 2 #arcane spoilers #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane s2 critical #caitlyn kiramman critical #anti caitlyn kiramman #fandom.rtf #meta dissertations.pdf #shut up haydar

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femmeleatherface · 3 days ago

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@caiteaz i was going to make this a reply but then it ran away from me, so sorry for the delayed response!

first up i just want to say that your interpretation of them a brotherly relationship is awesome and i love it. when all is said and done i'm personally open to really any interpretation of their dynamic, ultimately they are fictional characters and we have better things to do than argue over fake people. that's part of why i kept the romance mention in the tags rather than in the post itself

that said i am one of the people on the romance train so. i will explain my take on it!

realistically i think the main reason erik/the daroga as a ship exists is because of the susan kay novel. idk if you've read it but they are. very gay in that. it's been a while since i read it, but if i remember right at one point erik nearly steals diamonds--aka the stuff they make wedding rings out of--to give them to nadir (the daroga's name in this version). and then i remember VERY vividly erik even ponders if nadir is going to be his lover but then decides nah because erik can't comprehend the concept of bisexuality (despite clearly being open to the concept himself)

also more obscure but beloved by me if nobody else, there's the 1991 musical where the daroga swoops in at the end, plants himself on erik's bed, tries to comfort him because he's sad about christine leaving, then talks about how he's followed erik from the ends of the earth and will continue to follow him until the end of time. and then they smile and clash swords together (this is not a euphemism but sounds like it)

but in terms of the leroux novel, then for me the romantic interpretation of erik/the daroga comes from two approaches: fun reading-between-the lines of their interactions, and speculating the concept of such a relationship based on the characters themselves

from the between-the-lines approach, in the leruox novel they're antagonistic, but close. they feel almost like exes who are still kind of a little in love with each other, but also broke up for really good reasons, but also still understand each other better than everyone on the planet. i don't even read them as exes, i just think they have the vibe all on their own because their chemistry is so fun

basically, they annoy each other, but also clearly still care about each other. from erik's side of things, he doesn't drown the daroga in the lake (but is very okay drowning anyone else), and when he's at death's door at the end it's the daroga he goes to so he can tell him what happened with christine and get help fulfilling his burial wishes. and the daroga, despite literally losing everything and being exiled from his homeland because of erik, still follows erik to paris and keeps in touch with him and stalks him, really, the way erik stalks christine. (i'm a simple person, i see any parallels between same-gender relationships that are totally not romantic and hetero ones that totally are and i immediately raise my speculative gay eyebrow)

and obviously there's multiple ways that kind of relationship can be interpreted. i don't even know if leroux intended for us to read them as friends considering the daroga repeatedly calls erik a monster and they clearly get on each other's nerves. this is why i have a second approach, speculating on the concept of them

like, think about leroux erik. he desperately wants to be loved but also his relationship with christine is super unhealthy. i mean... someone who knows what he looks like and what horrors he is capable of and who still hasn't abandoned him despite losing everything for him is RIGHT THERE

and the daroga. he literally saved erik's life ages ago and never seems to regret it no matter how much evil erik commits. prior to christine's kiss, the daroga seems to have an recognition of erik's inherent worth as a human being when no one else does, even with all the times he calls him a monster. he wants erik to be alive and wants him to be happy, but also knows when to step in because he's gone too far. also he himself is an outsider in paris because he is an immigrant who is distrusted by the people around him because of his appearance, giving him a degree of empathy for what erik has been through as an "other." (i would argue christine also has this potential because she's swedish and this is even why she and the daroga are the two people able to get the most close to erik, but that's another post)

even if all that's not romantic love that's still got to be some kind of love. and considering romantic love and the so-called "intrinsic need" for it is a huge part of the novel, the romantic interpretation just makes sense theme-wise

anyway. sorry for the long post but i hope that answered your question. like i said, that's just my take. i'm sure others have different opinions because art is wonderful and subjective that way

the relationship between erik and the daroga is great because while yes, erik is the bane of the daroga's existence, the daroga is EQUALLY obnoxious to erik. for every gray hair the daroga receives from erik causing mayhem, erik receives one split end of what little hair he has left from the daroga stalking his house, butting his nose into his private life, and all around being a major buzzkill by reminding him of promises he made forever ago like "no more murders" or whatever

#screaming into the void #the void screams back #poto #media analysis for me and me alone #other reason: i am gay and love overanalyzing things and as such love reading gay relationships into fictional people #So Why Not

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lilybecca1 · 1 day ago

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Can I ask from this ask game for BakuDeku (all of the questions)? Thanks 🧁

https://www.tumblr.com/comingfromastatechampionasshole/119898100247?source=share

Hi! Sure!

1. Which one is the better cook

Definitely Katsuki but I am actually fairly certain that Deku can cook too, considering he has such a close relationship with his mother.

2. What their love letters look like

"You forgot your lunch again, stupid Nerd. >:( >:( Do I have to take care of you now too????

*bunch of scribbled out swear words*

Have a good day at work...I guess. Tch."

"Have a great day at work Kacchan!!!! 😊😊😇😊😇❤️🌟❤️❤️✨⭐ Don't forget to eat your lunch! 😊 See you at home!!"

3. Which one outlives the other, and how they cope

Neither. They die together. That is the only possible outcome. I will not accept anything else. (It's actually Bakugo that outlives Deku and becomes one of those lonely grumpy grandpas who grumble at everyone ever since their love died and swear at youngsters about how loud they are and spends their day alone in the same home he lived with his husband that now feels much more quiet and empty without Izuku there to ramble about his day and give him random kisses throughout the day. So now Bakugo just spends time alone with a scowl on his face like how he used to before he fell in love with Izuku, but deep down he misses him and the time they spent together)

4.What they do on date night

Bakugo begrudgingly takes Izuku to an amusement park, Izuku beaming like the sun, happy to share a crepe with him. Then Bakugo grumbles about how stupid amusement parks are so Deku tells him it's okay to not want to go on the rides because not everyone can handle the nausea. Bakugo takes it personally and makes it a challenge so they proceed to go on every single ride there is until one of them pukes or can't take it anymore but they're both too stubborn to give up and just say "I can still keep going" and next thing they know it's already closing time and they ended up spending the entire day in the amusement park. Then they go home and pass out in eachothers' arms.

5. How many kids they'll have

Two kids that they'll adopt like Mahoro and Katsuma

6. How they decorated their bedroom

Couldn't agree on the theme and color so they agreed to paint it something plain and simple like how Bakugo wanted but Izuku can decorate his side of the room with All Might posters and pictures of eachother and their friends.

7 Which one is the worse driver

I feel like Bakugo would be the more aggressive driver but Deku would kinda space out in the middle of driving and start muttering about something then 5 streets later he realizes he's driving and looks around surprised like how did I get here

8. What they argue about

Domestic things cause they can't agree on anything especially when it comes to cooking, Bakugo always wants to do everything his way while Izuku keeps trying to convince him but ultimately gives up

9. Which one swears more

I think that's an obvious one XD

10. What TV shows they watch together, and which ones they hide from the other

They definitely watch All Might documentaries together(even though Bakugo complains that it's stupid). Izuku secretly watching shows about their pro hero friends but hides it because he knows Bakugo would get jealous. Bakugo actually secretly watches those too but would never admit it

11. What their first impression was of each other

Bakugo: what the frick is this nerd of a kid doing here (looks weirdly at Deku boucing around like a bunny on energy drinks)

Deku: oh..he's wearing the same hat as me...I'll become friends with him! (Finds the kid's scowl a little off-putting that screams 'Don't talk to me', but decides to approach him anyway just to make friends with him)

12. What they do for their anniversary

Nothing, just a regular day for them, but somehow they always end up making the day a little sweeter than all the other days

13. Which makes a bigger deal of birthdays

Deku. He will never not do a surprise party for Bakugo even though Bakugo always says he hates it

14. What nicknames they call each other

Kacchan! Nerd.

They would never ever do pet names, I am 100% sure of that

15. What they would change about each other

Their past and the trauma they went through. Bakugo would change Izuku's past so he wouldn't be so reckless and he'd put himself first, and Izuku would change Bakugo's upbringing that made it so hard for him to express himself and his feelings

Let me know what you guys think 💚

#bnha #mha #bkdk #bakudeku #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakugo #deku #ask lilybecca1 #ask me anything #send asks #ask tumblr #questions and answers

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smoochi-march · 3 days ago

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Headlock - Imogen Heap

Fields of Mistria | March x F Reader

Summery | Anxiety on an all time high, you confront March during his work. Taking the step forward to make him yours, you request for him to join you to attend the Shoot Star Festival with you. Will he accept? or will he turn you down as he has with any other attempt to bond?

Warnings | Minor Swearing, Anxiety, I haven't written in almost two years, do be patient if it's poorly done.

Work count | 2310

Distant flickering, its greener scenery,

This weather's bringing it all back again.

Great adventures, faces, and condensation,

I'm going outside and take it all in.

Two pairs of eyes meet, lowering your chin hastily with a hand pressed against your chest. Grasping the fabric of your clothing while struggling to breathe, the tension was so heavy you could cut it with a sharpened blade.

You stood before March, crudely interrupting his work while clutching a device in your spare hand, cloaked behind your form. You were hiding it from his judgmental gaze. Lord, you despise how fearful you found yourself beneath his analytical eye, how he’d eat you up with a glance. Reading your intentions from a mile away, for somebody who insisted on disliking you- he sure did have a watchful eye on you at all times. Or was it that he truly couldn’t avoid it because you always visit him while he’s on the job? Hell, outside of work he couldn’t seem to escape you, or your name for that matter.

“…”

He’d raise a brow, expecting some sort of response. A greeting, yet he received nothing. That hardened glare softened as you lowered your head, confused by your actions. Ultimately, he’d press his hands deeper into the pockets of his apron. The wind swept through their figures, his red bangs shifting to cover his eyes temporarily before he murmured beneath his breath and took a step closer to you.

“…Did you come to waste my time? You've got a knack for breathing down my neck.”

You’d suck in a breath, raising your slouched figure to look him in the eye, for a split second you’d see his hardened glare falter. There you stood tall, rolling your shoulder back in an attempt to appear more confident, but he could see right through you. Why exactly were you so tense? Had he done something wrong? Have you finally opened your eyes to how poor of a person he is to hang around? He had his suspicions. Despite this, his narrow gaze would widen. Pursed lips and a flushed expression are all he is met with before you press something against his chest.

Pressed against his chest was an invitation, a silent proposal to join you for a well-known event in Mistria. The Shooting Star Festival.

You say too late to start, got your heart in a headlock,

I don't believe any of it.

You say too late to start, with your heart in a headlock,

You know you're better than this.

“-…just say no.”

March heard your choked whisper, lost for words. He had several suspicions about what your arrival may have been for, but inviting him to such an event was far from what he believed would escape your presence. Do you know what this entails?

You were often chipper, always willing to lend a hand despite his cruel treatment towards you. He intended to keep you at arm's distance, but, it backfired and seemed to ignite some sort of flare beneath your feet. He’d tell you to leave him alone, you’d return with his sheets from the request board, a toothy grin apparent in your features. You almost walked off without the reward on several occasions, selflessly aiding those in town, no, him in specific. Were you attempting to get on his good side? What for? It frustrated him, he hated you. No, he hates you. So why is it he can never forget your greetings each day? The praise, the complaints, every word escaping those lips of yours.

The crease of your forehead when you'd pout and furrow your brows, playfully smacking him whenever he'd say something sarcastic. How your nose would scrunch up at the smell of the alcohol he downed each Friday night at the Inn with everybody.

We're a different pair, just something out of step,

Throw a stranger an unexpected smile.

With big intention, still posted at your station

Always on about the day, it should have flown.

“-Please! Fuck, March. It’s yes, or no. I- I shouldn’t have come here. But…”

You couldn’t stand his silent treatment, you were previously so excited to ask him to be your partner for the Mistrian Tradition. One that allowed those of Mistria to gather around with friends, family, their significant other… what even were you both? You wanted to believe you were friends, but, March was still so distant. You hardly knew him, and that’s what led you here. You wanted to learn about who he is. Attracted to him, the way he’d focus so heavily on his work. The way his muscles would tense up after a repeated swing of the hammer, the sweat dribbling down his chin from the heat. You fantasize about him more than you’d like to admit, wishing nothing more to see who he is at heart.

“Say no? Why’d you even come in the first place? Shouldn’t you want to hear me agree?”

Yes, you wanted so desperately to hear those words he withheld from you. Still not saying either of the options you intended for him to say, god, he was frustrating. So frustrating you could cry.

“…Of course I do!”

You’d raise your voice, taking a step closer to him. The space between you closed further, forcing him to shift back as well uncomfortably. Did you intend to get this worked up over someone like him? There were plenty of others who would’ve loved to receive this brooch from you. Balor, Eiland, Ryis... hell, even Celine or Reina. For the love of god, why is it him? Why are you here?

“…Why else would I be here? Just as you said, it wouldn’t make sense. But, I came anyway! Hoping that for some odd reason, you’d accept me despite..."

He'd notice your body tense up along with your lips visibly trembling, anxiety sent like ripples through your body. Tides crashing against the shores of your fragile heart. You were strong, and he admired that, from a distance. Standing here with the ability to openly ask him to be your partner for the festival. Something he was never capable of doing,

"Despite?"

He'd inquire further,

"You're going to make me say it..?-"

You'd curse under your breath, weakly allowing the words to slip from your tongue.

"-d-despite your clear disinterest towards me..."

You say too late to start, got your heart in a headlock,

I don't believe any of it.

You say too late to start, with your heart in a headlock,

You know you're better than this.

That was his intention from the start, to prevent you from seeing through him. Brushing you off, pushing you away, and nudging you in the direction of others far kinder than him, people who understand how to treat you right.

Why is it that his consciousness weighs itself down with guilt? The guilt of his treatment toward you, the guilt and outright refusal to admit when he's in the wrong. How his heart would ache each time your excitement died down over time, that cute smile faint, like a kicked puppy whenever he shot down your requests to hang out together.

He couldn't allow any sort of attachment, not when he knew you'd leave. He was confident you would, averting his eyes from the clear signs of your settlement at the farm you built up from blisters and bedrock. He wouldn't admit his feelings. The warmth in his heart at the sight of your passing figure each time you made your way through town, stopping by the forge just to say hello and part ways, he grew accustomed to your visits. Missing you when you'd show no sign of life, busy elsewhere with your life. Missing the way strands of hair stung to your glistening skin, soot and dust kissing your cheeks from hours in the mines.

Your clothes soaked from diving in rivers for artifacts, he noticed it all. Shifting positions with you at the anvil in order to stand near the fire of his forge preventing any chill, or further cold in winter, without a word of course. Maintaining his nonchalant disposition, knowing his true intention wasn't for you to move out of his way, but to warm up next to the crackling heat. Dry those clothes of yours, fearing you'd grow sick and not show up the next morning.

Afraid to start, got your heart in a headlock,

I don't believe any of it.

You say too late to start, with your heart in a headlock,

You know you're better than this.

The tension wouldn't let up between the two of you, deciding it was best to take your leave, you'd whisper something so meek he struggled to catch on.

"...I really shouldn't have gone through with this. I'm sorry, March."

You felt utterly ashamed, humiliated by his silence, it wasn't a no- neither was it a yes. Should you be happy? No, your anxiety wouldn't settle down. Unable to accept being turned down, unable to celebrate his acceptance... left in the dark. Eyes glued to the ground, holding back tears.

Your hand would fall from his chest, fingers wrapped around the brooch weakly. Ready to pull away, you'd suddenly gasp as his hands would clasp around your own. Forcing you to hold the brooch back against his chest. A stray tear made its way down your cheek as you'd blink,

I'm walking, you've been hiding,

And you look half dead half the time.

Monitoring you, like machines do,

You've still got it, I'm just keeping an eye

"F-fine. I'll go with you."

March couldn't stand the sight of your tears, he knew he had been a complete jerk recently. He didn't enjoy behaving that way, but it's all he knew how to do. A way to cope with his insecurity, you were beautiful, talented, smart, and most importantly... Kind.

"-Olric will definitely badger me if I say no."

He'd then follow those words with a hushed grumble, closing his eyes and lifting his head. His cheeks flushed now, similar to your previous expression.

"-Quit crying, I never said I wouldn't go."

His hand wouldn't budge from your own, the warmth of your fingers brushing against each other. The comforting pressure was so foreign to him. His hands were significantly rougher, calloused from his line of work. Not that yours were dainty either, one look and they told a story of all your efforts to build your farm from what had been given to you upon your arrival.

I've been walking, you've been hiding,

And you look half dead half the time.

Monitoring you, like machines do,

You've still got it, I'm just keeping an eye

You still hadn't spoken a word since he agreed, somewhat irking him. Is this how you felt about his silent treatment? No wonder you raised your voice at him.

"-Look who is silent now... I'll go with you, alright? Just, don't let it get to your head. I- hate the idea of leaving you on your own after you put so much thought into... asking me. That's all."

Still sticking to his excuses, he wouldn't pull away. Allowing you to collect your thoughts, feeling your gaze rise up once more. You worked too hard towards this for him to turn you down, he couldn't do it.

"March, I- You don't have t-"

You'd feel him squeeze your hand, forcing your mouth shut. Was he doing this just to please you? Before your anxiety could haunt you any further, he'd rip the brooch from your hand and lift the back of his hand to shield his mouth. Throwing his head aside with an averted gaze. His blush is still visible.

"Shut up, I said I'd go. I'll see you at eight. Tonight. Got it?" He was excited. Thrilled at the idea you wanted him to accompany you. Would he express that openly? No. Ignoring the flutter of his heart, the constant uneasy pound in his ears.

You know you're better than this

Come back and start, got your heart in a headlock,

No I don't believe any of it.

You say too late to start, with your heart in a headlock,

You know you're better than this.

Your lips would part, only to close once more. Smiling, finally, a reaction he enjoyed witnessing.

March had a way of making you lose your ability to speak, but it only worsened as you'd feel a weight plant itself on the top of your head, forcing your head down, losing sight of him. Your face lit aflame with blush. March's eyes scanned around the pair of you, sighing in relief. Nobody's eyes were capable of witnessing what his next actions were. Allowing himself to indulge in his desire to comfort you, his hand began making claw motions in your hair, massaging your head for a moment. Just as you'd scratch the head of a cat.

"-Don't be late."

He'd then pull away, feeling the warmth in his heart becoming unbearable. He'd abandon you at the forge, in a rush to do something inside it seems.

"I- I won't!"

You'd shout back in the hopes he heard you, a bright smile blooming on your face. Unsure whether he heard you or not. Not that it mattered, you got the answer you desired. All that anxiety from before washing itself away as you'd look at your hands, reminiscing about the way he held your hand.

You hadn't expected him to suddenly pat an scratch your head like that, not that it was unwelcome. Perhaps, he cared more than you initially thought... or was it you just confirmed a suspicion you had believed in for seasons now?

March has begun to warm up to you, and you couldn't be happier to see the signs firsthand.

Afraid to start, got your heart in a headlock,

I don't believe any of it.

You say too late to start, with your heart in a headlock,

You know you're better than this.

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