#been a heck of an 8 years

[justwhumpythings]

8 years to the day since I joined tumblr/whumpblr 😊

[kazzykatt]

woah

it's amazing what a celestial themed robot jester can do *-*

Thank you <3

[whiskered]

color me intrigued 👀

[mrfoox]

Being genderflud for me is always a mess

[wearenotallrighthere]

Hitting PhD coursework and realizing that the sheer number of credits my MA advisor coerced (read: pushed me to take as a challenge to myself because he believed in me academically) has actually proven to be helpful.

I’m at full time enrollment while working full time and somehow I’m managing not to completely drown under it. My ADHD thrives on my stress but (for the moment) my grad journey is surprisingly unstressful.

Baldur’s Gate isn’t helping me get work done, but if anything my expertise in procrastinating and then screaming has given me more time to play lol

[starkeyvhs]

only you my girl, only you babe

PAIRING: rafe cameron x pogue!fem!reader

SUMMARY: four times your “enemy” rafe hinted he cares for you and the one time you actually caught on it. OR you thought rafe doesn’t like you because he hates all pogues. little did you know he has always looked at you differently.

WORD COUNT: 6.7k

WARNINGS: drinking, drugs, swearing, blood and wounds, kinda canon rafe (omg kez????), obx cliches (mainly the whole ‘kooks vs. pogues’ thing from S1), extremely ‘only soft to you and no one else’ vibes, fluff, angry confessions, heavy pining, mentions of y/n

EDITH SPEAKS: oh. my. god. if you were there on my old blog you would know how long it’s been since I first introduced my idea of writing this fic. I got stumped on it way too often and then forgot about it for months, and then decided to abandon it. But I found it again and I got my inspiration back and now I’m so so happy it’s actually finished!! <3

major thank you to @zyafics who helped me last year when i was writing the fic and helped me brainstorm ideas for it :’) kissing your beautiful mind just like always zya xxx

this really is a labor of love and I genuinely couldn’t be happier 🥹I would highly appreciate all kinds of feedback and reblogs, because they really are extremely motivating and fun to get back to! I hope you enjoy reading, and i hope these 6k words are worth all your time and attention :)

masterlist / join my taglist / requests

PROLOGUE

“Stay off Figure 8!” 

The all too familiar deep voice boomed across the beach, a completely dead silence started to surround the atmosphere. A loud groan was heard along with the unsteady thump of a person falling onto the sand, causing people standing around to gasp. 

JJ struggled to get up from the ground, the big punch he received from the one and only caused his nose to bleed non stop, and when he barely opened his eyes, he was met with a pair of icy cold blues staring back at him. 

“You hear me, Maybank? Stay. Off. Figure. 8. You and all your filthy pogue friends.” 

JJ tried getting up and talking back, he really did, but the one and only Rafe Cameron punched him so hard he lost all his balance. Blood kept on flowing in a never ending fashion, and JJ could see dark spots in his vision, his mind feeling light headed. 

“JJ!”

Rafe froze in his position, not looking up from JJ at the sound of JJ’s name being called out. The voice, the perfume, the general aura of the presence; Rafe didn’t have to look up to see who it was. 

“JJ oh my god please tell me you’re okay,” you mumbled, your voice almost trembling with the worry dripping from your words. You got on your knees and gently cradled JJ’s face, pulling it into your lap as you brushed his hair aside to look at the extent of damage on his face. JJ mumbled something incoherently and you let out a sigh, relieved he wasn’t completely knocked out. 

Rafe stood there on the side, his eyes widened as he saw how your fingers ran through his hair and wiped off his blood, he saw how careful you were with him, he saw how you mumbled small words of sweet nothingness to him. 

Rafe didn’t know what to say, he stood there limply as he watched you help JJ up, let him loop an arm across your shoulders so you could help him walk back to The Cut. 

As he saw you both walk back, he felt his blood boil. The rage built in him slowly like a thunderstorm, his breathing started to become erratic and his fists clenched tightly on his sides. 

“FUCK!” 

Rafe’s foot kicked across an empty beer can buried in the sand, causing it to fly and topple a few meters further from him. 

He wouldn’t have done anything to JJ, heck, he wouldn’t have looked at him if he knew you were on the beach too. 

The look on your face when you saw how hurt JJ was, the concern clouding all over your facial features; from the furrow of your brow to the frown on your lips, he knew you now hated him more than ever. He knew you would never want to look at him ever again. He knew you would never acknowledge his presence ever again. 

He knew there was no chance you would look at him the way he looked at you. 

ONE — THE PARTY

It was crazy.

The lights were neon and bright and they pierced your eyes harshly. The people at the party were almost sticking next to each other, their sweat, weed, alcohol, and an ungodly mix of expensive and cheap colognes being the only thing you can smell. 

You almost gagged as you maneuvered your way through the sweaty crowd, but you finally did, finding yourself taking deep breaths as you leaned against the countertop of the makeshift bar in the kitchen, letting the awful smell wash away from your nose palette. 

When you started feeling better, you got yourself a nice cold beer, letting the icy liquid run down your throat, sending chills down your spine but in a way you relished deeply. 

It was a scene like any other party; there were people dancing, some catching a smoke break at the side, some making out on the other side, nothing new. 

And it wasn’t anything new when a fight broke out. 

You didn’t know who the boys were who started to fight; all you saw was them go at each other like wolves, their courage mostly coming from the plethora of drugs in their system, profanities after profanities spilling out their mouth, and you were just watching from the side, completely nonchalant about it. 

But you were not so nonchalant when glass bottles were involved in hurting the other; you being in close proximity to the fighting pair resulted in one of the flying broken piece of glass cutting your hand, making you yell out at the sharp pain. The cut looked deep as the blood didn’t stop gushing out, but no one focused on you. Everyone was too busy watching the fight, trying to stop it, or just enjoying it for the heck of it. 

You hissed in pain, your own beer bottle set aside as you squeezed your eyes shut from the stinging pain spreading from your hand to your forearm. The blood started to trickle down from your palm down to the floor, and you had no idea what to do or who to go to. 

It all became a huge mess very quick, you on the side with your hand bleeding, and the rest of the party too busy to peg the immature boys on. 

You felt a tall shadow stalking over you, the scent of the rich cologne all too familiar. 

“That looks bad,” you heard in your ear. 

You turned to be face to face with Rafe. He was stalking down your wound, the blood flow not really stopping as the drops dripped down on the hardwood floor. His expression wasn’t one of worry. But it wasn’t one of detest either. It was just… emotionless. 

“Yeah no shit,” you muttered, looking down at your wound too. 

“Here,” he said, fishing out his handkerchief from his pocket. “This should help for the moment…” he muttered as he gently took your hand and wrapped the handkerchief around your cut. 

You looked at his hands working around your hand, covering up the cut. The pearly white cloth was quickly stained with a deep red of your blood, slowly spreading throughout the cloth. 

“You should get that checked once, just in case you need stitches,” he said, tying a knot to fix the cloth in its place. Just like his facial expression, his voice is also emotionless, monotone words leaving his lips. 

“Why are you doing this?” You couldn’t help but ask, out of all the people, Rafe was there to help you with your wound. 

“Because you’re bleeding a little too much,” he said, taking a step back from you. His hands then buried in the pockets of his jeans as he shrugged at you. 

You looked up in his icy blue eyes, not a single emotion in them. You weren’t sure what to say, finding yourself to be quite stunned which was never really the case; whenever Rafe talked to you, you were always quick to talk back, never letting him be the one who said the last words. 

“Right… thanks,” you muttered, looking down at the securely tied handkerchief around your hand. 

“Yeah,” he said with a nod of his head, and left you alone. 

TWO — THE FAILED DATE

You clutched on the tablecloth out of utter anxiousness, your eyes darting around the room. You took a look at your watch for the umpteenth time, and saw that the time you were supposed to be meeting someone got farther and farther in the past with each passing second. 

It had now been over an hour, the waiters had politely asked you if you would like to eat something, and all you asked for was a simple glass of water, because what if he shows up?

But now you could very clearly see that he won’t. 

You had a date, which unlike the past dates you had been on, really excited you. You thought he was a nice boy, someone you met while you were buying some beer for you and your friends. You don’t remember how the conversation started, but you both used to talk quite often, numbers exchanged and texts sent under the pale moonlight of 3 am. 

He finally asked you out on a date, and you were thrilled, to say the very least. But now, here you were at a fancy restaurant on Figure 8 which you barely got to go to, absolutely impatient as your knee bounced up and down out of anxiousness and embarrassment. 

You felt tears prick your eyes but you were quick to not let them fall, wiping them away from your waterline. You looked down in your lap, your fingers nervously pulling onto each other as the reality of being ditched settled in you. You took another look at your phone, desperate for any text, but there were no notifications. 

But then, you felt the sunlight falling onto you from the window next to you being blocked by a huge shadow, and when you looked up, you saw Rafe. 

Of course, Rafe, out of all the people. 

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you; your slightly red eyes and the tears accumulated in them didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“Why are you here all alone?” He asked you, still standing in front of you. 

You just shook your head as a reply and picked up your belongings from the table. “It’s none of your business Rafe… I’ll just leave…” you muttered, but before you could do anything else, Rafe sat in the seat opposite to you. 

He took a look at your outfit, noticing it’s something different than the attire you’re usually sporting, something more formal. 

It didn’t take him long to connect two and two together to figure out everything. 

“You got ditched huh?” He said silently. His tone came off condescending to you, even though he didn’t mean to sound that way at all. 

You mentally braced yourself to get embarrassed by him, ready to hear a comment or two from him, because that’s what he did: say rude things to people, especially Pogues, because he felt like it. 

But he didn’t say anything. 

Absolutely nothing. 

You looked up at him, small streaks of tears had started making their way down. “I told you it’s none of your business,” you said, sniffling. 

He only sighed as he leaned back in the chair, watched you carefully as your head hung low, silent sobs escaping you as you occasionally wiped away your tears. 

“Listen, it’s not your fault okay?” He mumbled. You looked up from your lap with your eyes filled with tears. “I know you must be feeling really bad right now, and there is nothing wrong about it, but don’t think too much about it,” 

“I… I got ditched Rafe. I am sitting here all alone in this expensive restaurant crying my eyes out. How can I not think too much about it?” You whispered, your eyebrows creased together. 

He leaned a bit closer to you. “I’m trying to make you feel better…” He said softly. 

“Well,” you sniffled, looking away from him, “I didn’t ask for it, okay?” 

These were the last words you said, before you got up from your chair and left the restaurant, whilst Rafe watched you walk away, wanting to hold your hand and to stop you, but he just couldn’t. 

THREE — THE BEACH CLEAN UP

You looked up at the sun, wiping the sweat off your forehead as you took in a deep breath. The summers only seemed to be getting hotter this time around, and the fact that you were at a beach clean up at noon was not helping your situation. 

You liked to pick up work like beach clean ups in between your main job at the island club so you could make a little side money. 

As you got back to picking up the trash from the beach, throwing it in the little basket you’re carrying with yourself, you looked up to hear some chatter besides the otherwise quiet beach and the other people working quite silently. 

It was a group of Kooks – their expensive clothes and accessories shining under the bright rays of the sun completely unmissable. And in the group of them, a pair of electric blue eyes had its gaze fixed on you intensely. 

You didn’t even know why Rafe was there. Or why the other Kooks were there. They didn’t have any need to participate in these kinds of jobs. Everything was just handed down to them, daddy’s money being what they thrive on.

You ignored them and got back to working, focusing on clearing the trash from the specific area of the beach you were at. Just a few minutes later you felt the sunlight being blocked by a huge shadow, and when you looked up, you saw Rafe right by your side, separated from his Kook friends. 

You wanted to say something, but you weren’t sure what, so you peeled your focus away from him and got back to picking up the trash and throwing it into the basket. 

“Here,” he said almost suddenly, causing you to look up at him. “I’ll hold it for you,” he gestured the basket in your hand, and even proceeded to hook two of his fingers into its side, holding onto it.

Before you could have protested, he gently pulled the basket from your hand, causing you to let go of it. You wouldn’t lie, your basket had started to get heavy from the innumerable aluminum cans and other trash sitting in it.

“Thanks,” you murmured under your breath and from the corner of your eye, you saw Rafe acknowledged you with a nod of his head. 

For the next hour or so, you went around picking up the trash and Rafe followed you holding the basket for you as if it weighed nothing, and you kept on dropping the trash in it. It was oddly comfortable, the silence between you two as you weren’t sure what to say – and frankly, you thought that was the best. 

As the clean up came to an end, everyone was sitting in the sand, and light laughter and chatter filled the group. The afternoon had started to turn into evening, the bright rays of the sun turning into something more warm, more comforting instead of burning. You sat in the sand, leaning back on your forearms a little away from the rest, just letting the summer breeze blow past you gently. 

Rafe sat down next to you, and held out something. You saw it was a glass of iced lemonade he got from the little surf shop. 

“You didn’t have to,” you mumbled, eyeing the glass in his hand, the condensation on the surface causing water droplets to slide against the smooth glass. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’ve worked all afternoon. Have it, it’s my treat.” 

You took another second or two before taking the glass from him, sipping on the cool, sour yet sweet liquid and allowing it to run down your throat. He remained seated next to you as you both watched the waves crash on the shore, the seagulls flying over and the sun only delving you into a comforting warmth more and more with each passing second, and slurped on your little lemony drinks. 

FOUR — THE TIP

The day was slowly turning into dusk, the bright afternoon light leaving to welcome darker pink and orange streaks cast by the almost setting sun. This was the time when the island club started filling in more and more, the bar being one of the first parts of the club to get exceptionally occupied.

You were busy serving an older woman, your mind completely occupied to make the martini, when out of the corner of your eye, you caught the all too familiar gist of a head of dirty blonde curtain bangs. 

You turned your head to meet Rafe’s blue eyes looking intently at you. The way he was focused on you, his gaze not wavering for even a fraction of a second, and the strong intensity behind them made you feel like the only girl on this planet. Though, of course, that feeling was short-lived when you were snapped out of your daze by a customer calling out for you. 

You were quick to rush over to the customer, who had just finished the drink you had served him. He left the money for his drink where he was sitting and was already making his way out of the club. 

You  picked up the dollar bills to see he paid completely for the drink, but the tip wasn’t even touching the bare minimum. You didn’t know what the reason was, you had been kind to the customer, made his drink perfectly and served it on time, and even presented it as aesthetically as you could. Even then, your tip wasn’t up to the mark. Sighing, you made your way over to the other end of the bar counter where you kept your tip jar, which coincidentally also happened to be where Rafe was sitting. 

“Everything alright?” He asked, eyeing your woeful expression as you were putting the newly received ‘tip’ (if it can be even called that) in the jar. His eyes raked over the jar, and he couldn’t help but find it a lot more empty than it should be. 

“Yeah everything’s fine,” You mumbled, keeping the jar aside. You wiped your hands once on the towel slung in the loop of your apron before looking up at Rafe. “What can I get you?” You asked. 

“A neat whiskey’s fine,” He said and you nodded. You served him the neat whiskey, setting the glass right in front of him. He gave you an acknowledging nod and wrapped his fingers around the glass and bought it closer to his mouth, drinking from it. 

You decided to work around the bar a bit, just cleaning everything up, preparing everything you may need in advance, practically anything you could get your hands at – because anything was better than having to talk to Rafe, who, by the way, didn’t take his eyes off you for even a second. His gaze was firm and jaw was set as he just saw you work around the bar, silently sipping on his whiskey. 

You kept yourself wonderfully distracted as you served the customers and prepared everything behind the bar, but every so often, your gaze would magnetically be pulled back to Rafe, and you would always catch him looking at you. 

When you noticed Rafe’s almost done with his glass of whiskey, you made your way back to him. 

“Another one?” You asked, and he only silently nodded as his reply. You refilled his glass with the neat whiskey, and leaned back against the counter, just simply glancing around the scene of the bar and the club and catching a small break. 

A silence fell over the two of you, the light chatter and the music playing in the club thrumming against your eardrums. Rafe was just silently sipping the whiskey, not saying or doing anything, just sitting there and having his drink. 

“So uh… you’re alone here tonight?” You asked, your words feeling cautious. “I mean, you’re usually here with Topper, or with someone, atleast,”

He set his almost finished glass at the counter, his fingers still wrapped around the clear glass. His gaze found yours, a warm blue instead of the usual icy one sinking into your eyes. 

“Topper was busy,” He muttered, “so I came alone,”

You just quietly hummed at his words, and from the corner of your eye you saw one of your customers finishing their drink and leaving their money on the counter. You went to get it, and when you did, you saw it’s the same thing repeating itself: the ‘tip’. 

You sighed, slightly aggravated as you made your way back to where the top jar was, and dumped the money in it. 

“Will it kill them to just pay something to their bartender?” You sighed, leaning against the counter and tilting your head back, closing your eyes for a moment. Your shift was close to coming to an end and if that’s the money you had to go home with tonight, well, it’d be kind of fucked. 

You could feel Rafe’s gaze on you, but he didn’t say anything, just finished the last sip of his whiskey in a gulp. You were about to ask him for another refill, but you heard someone calling you out. 

You turned around to see it was one of your coworkers, who told you were being called inside. You turned to look back at Rafe, but he just shook his head, and gestured to you to leave. You followed your coworker and went inside to where he was leading to. 

After being freed from the quite useless meetup with your manager, you finally walked back out to the bar after 15 minutes. When you did, you saw Rafe’s stool was empty, and there was money kept on the counter. 

You approached the counter, and the moment you saw the money, your eyes almost fell out from how wide they got. 

Ten crisp hundred dollar notes sat unfolded on the marbled counter along with the money for the whiskey, and you couldn’t believe your eyes. For a second, it felt unreal. You reached your hand out and your fingertips touched the paper, and you realised the money was real. You picked the notes up, your lips parted in shock as you gaze at them. 

Rafe tipped you $1000. 

1000 fucking dollars. 

Your gaze immediately turned towards the exit of the bar, and of course, you couldn’t spot Rafe – you had completely missed him. 

You carefully kept the notes in your tip jar and sealed the jar shut. Through the glass, you couldn’t remove your gaze from the notes, your mind now completely clouded with Rafe, and his tip. 

ONE — THE BROKEN DOWN CAR

You let out a frustrated groan, kicking the tyre in utter vexation, which helped you release just the tiniest fraction of your rage. You fished out your phone from your pocket just to see it was nothing more than a dead device, serving you no purpose. You almost had the urge to throw the phone, but you stopped yourself at the right second, because you realized, you can’t afford to hear the sound of the glass screen cracking. 

Instead, you just kicked a pebble in your path and slumped against the side door of your beat up car which decided to stop working halfway across your journey from Figure 8 to the Cut. You were at the side of the road, watching other cars and vehicles pass by as you sat there on the roadside, not having a single clue on what to do. 

10… 15… 20 minutes passed and you were still in the same position, not knowing what to do and not making any effort to find out either. The road fell silent a few minutes ago, no vehicles crossing, but the silence was short lived when you heard the revving of an engine from the distance, and it came to a stop right next to you. 

An all too familiar red and black bike stood next to you, the rider’s face covered by the helmet. But the bike, the gold signet ring on the index finger of the left hand, and the taut muscles peeking from under the t-shirt were more than enough to confirm who it was. 

The helmet came off and Rafe’s piercing blue eyes found yours. 

“What happened?” He asked, getting off his bike as he ran a hand through his hair, his curtain bangs pushed back momentarily before they fell down on both the sides of his face in a ragged middle part just like always. 

“My car broke down,” you muttered as you looked up at him. 

“Hm.” 

He rounded around you and lifted the cover of the engine, holding it up with one hand as he inspected the engine carefully. You watched him intently, trying to figure out what the expressions on his face meant, but there weren’t any to begin with. It was a face so cold and plain, suiting well with the cold blue eyes. 

“There’s some issue with the battery. You most probably need to get it replaced.” He declared, letting the cover fall back in its place. 

“Oh great,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your words as you threw your head back against the door of your car. “That’ll probably cost nothing, won’t it?” 

Rafe caught the sarcasm of your words very well but didn’t comment anything, just wiped the dust off his hands as he gazed down at you. 

“Come on,” you heard, and as you looked up, you saw he was holding his hand out for you. “You were probably going back home yeah? I’ll drop you.” 

You opened your mouth to argue but he cut you off the next instant. 

“No ifs, or buts, or ‘Rafe’s, you hear me? You’re letting me drop you off, and are letting me take care of this,” he said, gesturing to your car. “I’ll call a mechanic who’ll get your car towed from here and will work on it. Now come on, none of us have got all day.” 

By the end of his words, you knew whatever you’ll do is equivalent to pointless, so you gave in. You gently held his hand and helped yourself up from the road, brushing a hand over your clothes as he led you to his bike parked aside. 

Rafe put his helmet on top of your head and adjusted the strap, and you heard a faint click as it fixed in place. You wanted to ask ‘what about you?’ when the only helmet was now sitting on your head, but you decided against it. He mounted the bike and gestured to you to do the same, revving the engine twice or thrice before taking off. 

He was definitely faster than what you had expected, and you couldn’t help it when you gripped the sides of his t-shirt, fisting the crisp material in your fingers to provide yourself some stability. For a second, he took one hand off the handlebar and reached for your hand scrunching his t-shirt. He gently took your wrist and you let go of the fabric in the process, allowing him to tug your hand and place it on his waist. Your other hand followed suit, and both of your arms were firmly wrapped around his waist. His hand landed back at the handlebar, and he only sped up more, the wind whipping past you at a phenomenal speed. 

The ride to The Cut came to an end when Rafe reached your home, and you didn’t want to admit to him or to yourself, but you felt it was short. The ride was nothing short of exhilarating, the wind whipping past your skin, and the way your arms found purchase around his waist gave you the comfort you needed. 

You got off the bike, firmly planting your feet on the ground as you did so, and Rafe’s hand instinctively wrapped around your arm to make sure you remained stable. You carefully took off the helmet and handed it back to him. 

“So uh,” You muttered, clearing your throat subtly, “thanks for the ride. Really,”

He shook his head, kicking the stand of the bike in place and allowing it to lean on one side. “Don’t worry,” He said, still sitting on the bike. 

“You, you really didn’t have to,” You said, your fingers intertwined with each other behind your back. 

“And do what? Leave you alone at the side of the road? With a broken down car and a dead phone?” Rafe sighed. “I wasn’t gonna do that y/n, you know that,”

You know that. 

Yeah you do. 

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat as a small silence fell over you two as none of you said anything, and you kept on contemplating how you could possibly return such a massive favor. 

“You…” You began, your voice low, the words on the tip of the tongue feeling experimental, “you wanna come inside for a moment?”

Rafe’s response didn’t come out the very next second, and that small pause felt like years to you. 

“Sure,” He said, getting off his bike. You let out a sigh of relief and nodded, leading him towards your place. 

“It’s nothing big…” You muttered as you climbed up the stairs of the porch and he followed suit, watching you unlock the front door. “But it’s home, I guess.”

Knowing he had grown up in the richest part of the island, surrounded by everything he could possibly need and want, you had a feeling he’d definitely make some snarky comment. Cause isn’t that what he did? Rafe Cameron: the Kook prince, but also the biggest asshole?

But he was completely silent when he followed you inside and only quietly sat down on the couch you led him to, which you definitely were shocked to see, but nevertheless you didn’t really let it show on your expressions. 

“So uh…” you began to speak, wanting to break through the awkward air around you two, “anything you’d like? Water? Or some tea maybe?” 

He shook his head silently, and a moment later, gestured to the empty seat next to him. 

“Come sit,” he said, words simple and direct, no beating around the bush, just like always. 

You took a sweet moment to let his words settle in you, but when you did, you walked up to the couch and sat down next to him, a small distance maintained between the two of you. Your gaze remained fixed on your shoes, your hands perfectly intertwined in your lap, and your habit of pulling onto them – something which only tended to happen you felt really anxious – came back. 

The awkward air was around you two again, settling over you two like a blanket that is way too warm for hot weather, making you feel uneasy and has got you squirming for any sort of cooling. 

“Why do you do that?”

There it was. 

It was out. 

You blabbered out the question as if it meant nothing, when in reality, it carried so much more weight than you could possibly ever imagine. 

When you were met with silence for a moment, you looked up, and saw Rafe sitting with his hands on his knees, his own gaze fixed at something on the floor. What was it exactly – you couldn’t tell. 

When he still didn’t speak anything, you decided to take the chance. 

“You’re always… there for me, in one way or the other. You patched my hand up at that party weeks ago, when you could’ve just ignored the situation. You saw me crying to myself when my date didn’t show up and came up to me when you could’ve just ignored the situation. You helped me at the beach clean up and carried my heavy bin for me when you could’ve ignored the situation. You saw my lack of tips and paid me a massive one when you could’ve ignored the situation. You could’ve always ignored the situation, Rafe. Just like you always do with the other Pogues. With them, you don’t care for even a damn second. But… why are you doing so much for me?” 

The silence kept on greeting you, and you could feel yourself beginning to get impatient. Your gaze flickered over Rafe, and you didn’t miss the way he flexed his fingers over his knee, as if gripping it tightly. 

“I, I don’t know…” He mumbled weakly. You had never heard his voice take such a softer tone. It’s as if you didn’t even know it existed. 

“What– what do you mean you don’t know?” You sighed, turning your body a bit so you could face him. “That’s fucking ridiculous Rafe!”

“It’s not ridiculous I just can’t explain it the way you wish I could–”

“Well you should be able to cause I need explanations–”

“Not everything can be given a logical explanation come on–”

“Yes it can if you try hard enough–”

“I care for you okay!”

His words were loud, much louder than any of his previous words. Their loudness and conviction shut you up right at that moment, your eyes widening, and your lips slightly parted as you stared at him with a look of disbelief in your eyes. 

“I–I Rafe began, running a hand through his messy bangs, and you had to control the urge to run your own fingers through them and gently push them out of his eyes, “I don’t know why, but I just can’t stand the thought of you being hurt, or being sad, or going through any discomfort. I just can’t okay? Each time I see you that way I– I immediately get to solving it cause I can’t bear to see you all troubled. I don’t want to see a single scratch on your skin or– or a single furrow in your brow I just… want to see you happy. Cause you look... so so pretty when you’re smiling, y/n, it’s… it’s unexplainable,”

A silence fell over you two as you let his words sink in you, which was a lot harder than you’d like, but you were doing it. 

“And i just… wish that one day… you’d smile that pretty smile of yours because of me,” He murmured, “because I made you smile,”

You could see Rafe’s own words taking a massive toll on him, just as it was taking on you. You parted your lips to say something but you were just so horribly stumped, you couldn’t utter a single word. 

He ran a ragged hand through his hair once again and stood up, clearing his throat. 

“I should leave now,” He muttered, standing in front of your seated form but not facing you, but instead facing the door. Your own gaze was fixed at the floor, and you could hear your heartbeat thumping loudly in your eyes, his words repeating over and over like a broken record in your mind. 

You didn’t say anything to stop him, so Rafe silently walked out the door, closing it behind himself with a silent click. 

You were left all alone in your living room, Rafe’s weighted words lying heavy on your heart and mind, and the distant noise of his bike’s engine revving a bitter reminder that he wasn’t next to you anymore. 

Just two days later, when you woke up in the morning and looked out your window, you saw your car parked. Not only was the battery replaced, a whole paint job was done, the ripped car seats were replaced with some fancy leather, the tyres were exchanged for upgraded ones, and for a second, you didn’t even recognise your own car. 

You noticed a piece of paper held in place by the windshield wiper, and when you went outside and took the piece of paper and unfolded it, you saw a small phrase scrawled in black against the white of the paper. 

don’t mention it. – R.C.

EPILOGUE  

You let out a deep sigh as you watch him laugh, patting his friend’s arm in the process. A smile of pure contentment crosses your face, watching the rays of the bright, afternoon sun hit his bare skin and making it shine, his muscles seeming more pronounced than ever. 

You watch him turn around and glance at you over his shoulder, his smile wide as he gives you a flying kiss. You can’t help but chuckle at the endearing action, causing you to send one his way too. He lifts up two fingers in the form of a peace sign and gestures to his friend next to him, silently conveying to you that he will be by your side in just two minutes. You give him an understanding nod and watch his head turn back to the front, getting delved into the conversation with his friend again. 

You sip on your drink as you lean your head back, the sound of the boat rushing past the waves of the ocean filling your ear drums deeply. You close your eyes and just listen to the sound of waves, your mind shutting out the chitter chatter of the conversations of the other people on this boat. 

Soon enough you feel the sunlight being blocked and as you open your eyes, you see him standing right in front of you, a smile on his face. The chain around his neck along with the little gold capital letter of your initial hanging from it catches the sunlight and gleams more than it usually does. He sits down next to you and silently wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You smile as you lean into him, your fingers going immediately to fiddle with the chain, feeling the edges of the cool gold initial under your fingertips. 

You take a glance up at him, running your other hand along the side of his now buzzed head, feeling the short, prickly hair gently tickle your fingers. 

“Are you having a good time so far?” He mutters softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, your head tucking in the crook of his neck. 

“Yeah, yeah I am,” you say quietly, your fingers mindlessly continuing fiddling with the gold initial on his chest. “You?” You ask, slightly lifting your head up from his neck. 

“Oh, the absolute best time,” He says softly, looking down at you with a gentle smile on his face. “We’re on our boat, and I’m with my gorgeous girlfriend, what else could I need?”

You can’t help but softly chuckle at his words, silently shaking your head as you lean your head against his shoulder again and resume fiddling with the chain. You do it often, almost each time you get your hands on him, and he loves it; feeling the occasional brush of your fingers against his skin and the gentle tugs on the chain. 

He allows you to relax against him completely, his arms around you to keep you close to him as you both sit silently, only the sound of the water and the light chatter of your friends accompanying you two. 

“Thank you,” Rafe says softly, his fingertips tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder. 

You furrow your brows at his words, slightly confused, as you look up at him. “What for?” You ask. 

Rafe only keeps on gazing at you, a gentle smile pulling his lips. He quietly shakes his head, and with a gentle pull, he allows you to rest against him again. 

“Nothing.” He stays quiet for a moment. “Everything.” 

Your own lips can’t help but upturn in a small smile too. “Well, in that case…” you murmur, leaning back to look up at him, one hand coming to rest against his cheek as you gently caress the soft skin, and you slowly lean in, pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss. 

“Thank you,” you mumble softly against his lips. Rafe’s hands grip your waist and he pulls you closer, not letting you pull back from the kiss. His fingers splay across your back as he kisses you, his lips moving in an unhurried, tender motion against yours. 

A moment or so later, he pulls back, his eyes opening by just a fraction. You let your arms hook around Rafe’s neck, keeping him close to you. 

“You’re the only one for me, Rafe,” you mumble quietly. “You’re the only one I’ll ever want.” 

He leans his head against you and takes a deep breath, your scent and the smell of the ocean around you filling his nostrils deeply. 

You both let the moment just simply sink in you, the sun rays bathing you in the warmest light, along with the presence of each other, which might be warmer than the sun any time of the day. 

“Only you, my girl,” he mumbles quietly. “Always and forever.” 

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @drewstarkeys-world / @inthelibrarybtw / @mileyraes / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @khaisdrz / @weirdowithnobeardo

specific tags for this fic: @writingmeraki / @ghoslyethastaryn / @congratsloserr / @helloloverz / @littlelamy / @eolsens / @wtfdudesblog / @jkrafe / @onlyrealjoy / @husherstan / @lilithblackkk / @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

tagging some moots: @runningfrom2am / @b1mb0slvt / @nemesyaaa / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @jjsbank444 / @ladyinbl00d

[wolfofansbach]

BEING A LIST OF THE THIRTEEN GREATEST RIVERDALE LINES, ON THE OCCASION OF THAT SHOW'S TERMINATION

As our much loved/hated show comes to an end, I feel compelled to record, for posterity, the greatest thirteen pieces of dialogue to spring from the pens of RAS and his henchmen. It was, of course, originally a top ten list, but I simply could not exclude a few of these treasures. Without further ado: 

13. 

“I dropped out in the 4th grade, to sell drugs, to support my nana.” 

“That means you haven't known the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of high school football.” 

Spoken by: an inmate of Leopold and Loeb Juvenile Detention Center, and Archie Andrews. 

In: 3 x 2 

Yeah, okay, this one had to be on the list. It’s funny, I’ll admit. It’s a great example of the overwrought semi-sincere melodrama that helped make this show so special. It’s low on the list largely because The Normies got their hands on it, so every time I hear someone make a reference I get all “do not cite the deep magic to me, witch.” 

12. 

“No! No! What are we supposed to do now? I’m horny as heck!”

Spoken by: Archie Andrews 

In: 7 x 16

Season 7 is undeniably dreadful, and yet there are diamonds in the rough. The occasion is the failure of a projector, just as Archie and Reggie prepare to watch a pornographic film. The utter desperation with which KJ Apa delivers this line is exquisite. One is made to feel they are witnessing a genuine tragedy. 

11. 

“Tonight, they’re making an exception and debuting a cover of the song my parents claim they were listening to the night Jason and I were conceived.” 

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom. 

In: 1 x 1 

Really a fantastic line. A wonderful encapsulation of the casual absurdity of Cheryl’s character, and a foretaste of the lunacy we would plumb in later episodes and seasons. 

10. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. I don’t fit in and I don’t want to fit in. Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on? That’s weird.” 

Spoken by: Jughead Jones

In: 1 x 10

A genuine classic. “High school football” before “high school football.” One is never entirely sure just how sincere the line is meant to be, both on a meta-level and in-universe. A perfect illumination of Jughead’s pretentiousness. It is made all the better by the occasional cuts to Lili Reinhard’s agonized face. 

9. 

“At the last dance, multiple students were murdered.” 

Spoken by: Principal Holden Honey. 

In: 4 x 2

Delivered as an explanation to Toni and Cheryl, as to why there would be no school dance this year. Principal Honey is in fact supremely rational in the cancellation of this dance. This being Riverdale, he is of course treated as an unreasonable tyrant. 

8. 

“Bro, I know all the secrets of this universe.” 

Spoken by: Archie Andrews (evil version)

In: 6 x 5 

Spoken as evil Archie reveals his evil plan to keep the parallel universes apart. KJ Apa’s delivery once again makes this line. He is comically sinister. Strangely, he sells it. 

7. 

“A Vughead kiss, right now, in the present might be precisely what it takes to save a future Bughead from imploding.” 

Spoken by: Jughead Jones. 

In: 2 x 14

One of those lines that both makes me laugh and makes me genuinely angry. This was a fairly early season, and this may have actually been the first line to get me asking, ‘did they genuinely write and deliver that?’ Extra points for use of the atrocious ‘Vughead’ portmanteau ship name rather than ‘Jeronica.’ 

6. 

“I’m the ultimate wild card. I am the daughter of The Black Hood. The nightmare from next door. I’m training with the FBI and I’m coming for you, you psycho bitch.” 

Spoken by: Betty Cooper

In: 4 x 14 

Just delicious. Another one of those lines that leaves you somewhat unsure whether or not the writers understood how genuinely hysterical it was. “The Nightmare from Next Door” sounds like an announcer hyping up a wrestler. Spoken with a raw sincerity by Lili Reinhart. Also points for the heavy homoeroticism between Betty and Donna. 

5. 

“For I am Cheryl Blossom, Queen of the Bees.” 

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom.

In: 5 x 16. 

This one really doesn’t require any elaboration. 

4. 

“Elijah ascended…and I will, too.” 

Spoken by: Edgar Evernever.

In: 4 x 5. 

Admittedly, this one is only spectacular with context. But in context—the context being that Chad Michael Murray delivers this line while dressed like Evel Knievel and standing in a cartoon rocket right out of a Warner Bros cartoon—it becomes utterly magnificent. 

3. 

“It’s not queer baiting, it’s saving the world.” 

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge. 

In: 6 x 22. 

It’s actually hard for me to decide whether this one is funnier with or without context. Without context it’s wonderful, but it possibly becomes even funnier when you know that the context is that Veronica needs to kiss Cheryl to transfer superpowers into her body so she can turn into a Scarlet Witch knock-off and stop a magic comet summoned by Sephiroth an English wizard who is also the Devil. 

2. 

“If there’s no wedding reception, it means the Gargoyle King has won.” 

Spoken by: Kevin Keller. 

In: 3 x 12.

One of my personal favorites. This is a perfect line because like #3, it requires no real elaboration. There is absolutely no context in which it isn’t hysterical. 

1 .

“Word of my exploits serving Nick his comeuppance has seeped into the demimonde of mobsters and molls my father used to associate with, so the five families are sending their youngest and brightest, their ‘princes,’ as it were to, well, come court the rare Mafia Princess who can belly up to the bar with the big boys.

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge. 

In: 2 x 20. 

This is, in my opinion, the all-timer. Every word is perfect. The rapid-fire alliteration. The use of the word ‘demimonde.’ The entirely unnecessary addition of ‘as it were.’ This is borderline Dr. Seuss. The fact that Camila Mendes delivered it without cracking a smile should have won her an Emmy. No. An Oscar. This line is Riverdale. 

[new-revenant]

I had a crack idea of since Danny likes to do time missions sometimes for Clockwork on one of those missions he ended up meeting an 8-year-old Ra al Ghul who ended up becoming obsessed with the powerful 14-year-old Danny believing him to be like a god since if you saw a glowing floating teenager 500 years ago you would probably think it's a God too

Ever since Ra al Ghul has dedicated himself to being phantoms worshiper seeing him anyone that's connected to him as a God of the Lazarus pits

Danny calls him his creepy stalker that somehow is still alive and Danny's pretty sure it's only because of spite

So two years for Danny he ends up being summoned by the Justice League and being asked to make a a partnership with the Justice League and they asked Danny what he would like in return

Danny pops out a bunch of boxes and it's like can you help me get rid of my stalkerish cult leader named Ra al Ghul Danny uses each box to pull out a piece of evidence of Ra al Ghul just being stalkerish and creepy

Some things in the Box are sacrifices are wrong letters about Danny that Ross have been doing into the Lazarus pits at Danny has been getting heck Ra al Ghul has even found someone named Tim Drake that looks like him and Danny's incredibly worried about poor guy because of Ra al Ghul

Danny's rent including being worried about Talia, Dusan, and Damien since they were named after Danny's family Friends he accidentally mentioned to Ra al Ghul back then

To the Justice League especially the Batfam members are they are just watching this definite God like being be like just stop Ra al Ghul from stalking me and I'll be able to help you whenever you need me to help

Crack, crack, crack, crack! Aight time to actually read this

omg that’s hilarious, I love it. I love when gods or god-like beings are like “please help me this guy is freaking me out” to just some other guys. I’d image that once he learns that Ra is messing with Batfam as well, before he would ever get summoned by the JL, he would definitely try to warn them of Ra’s weirdness(that they likely are already aware of, but Danny want to make extra sure they are safe). If anyone asks why Danny isn’t just dealing with Ra himself, it’s because he feels bad. That Ra al Ghul guy just seems so sad, and lonely, and pathetic, worshiping this random ghost teen(in Danny’s mind). Danny just needs help with letting Ra down easily that no, he’s not a god, he (probably) just the king/prince of ghosts and is also just friend with a time god(clockwork). Just go worship that guy instead.

[girlactionfigure]

“My son. He's not a PhD expert archeologist for decoding ancient languages. He's an 8 year old boy, reading plain Hebrew text etched in the 2nd Temple's stone more than 2000 years ago by one of his ancestors.

That's a few years before Jesus was born. And more than 600 years before Muhammad was born. And this was our SECOND temple.

Since then, we've been praying every single day for our return to our Jerusalem. Heck, we even prayed for the rebuilding of the city after each time we eat bread. No matter the century, no matter the country- China, Argentina, South Africa, Iraq or Italy.

But sorry, I interrupted. You were saying something about the Jewish people being colonials in a foreign land?” - via Shabi Spero

Joseph Waks

[hazbinhazmeinachokehold]

hi hi! can I please have a hazbin crew x child reader that died really young (7-8) but is super duper sweet and like polite and stuff and they all wonder how the heck this child ended up in hell but don't ask (bc i feel like it might be rude to ask ppl why their in hell lol) and then in a conversation the reader just casually mentions how their a serial killer and would lure people in and then kill them. oneshot preferably but whatever you want

You'd been at the hotel for two months now. Despite that, everyone had basically become parental figures to you. You were very sweet and easy to get along with so it was only natural.

Today you were playing two truths and a lie for the bonding exercise. It was going pretty normal and there had been only a few minor surprises. That was until you spoke.

"Okay so I've been in hell for 3 years, I read in my free time, and I used to kill people when I was alive." You said innocently.

Mostly everyone had a shocked expression on their face besides Alastor and Niffty but that was to be expected.

"It-it has to be to be the last one right?" Charlie said, which earned a few murmurs of agreement.

"I would have to disagree." Alastor spoke up, "I recall you saying you arrived here last year."

You nodded and clapped, "Yes that is correct!" The silence after you spoke was deafening. "...What? I don't do it anymore, even if I did I wouldn't hurt y'all!"

"We... uh- Angel it's your turn now!" Charlie said.

"Oh! I like to do drag, my birthday is September 9th and I am more than a little scared of y/n now."

"Why would you be scared- but Angel, I thought your birthday was April 1st?" You said you were confused.

"Yep."

a/n: sorry this is short I didn't have many ideas.

[wonderjanga]

C.C and Marylin Headcannons

Okay, so the other day I saw someone type about their headcannons for Billy. I wanna put my head cannons for him/his parents too cause I’ve been thinking about this for a while.

So as of now, I’ve been playing a bunch of Tomb Raider games. If you’ve played or at least heard of the franchise, you’d know that Lara’s an archeologist. And guess what? C.C. and Marylin are. (Btw am I spelling her name right 😭) So, in my mind. They both grew up in England and then immigrated to the US and met in Fawcett and blah blah blah. Now to the good stuff, you know how Lara exudes utter badassery? You do? Great! So all the heinous, wild, plot armor filled things she did in the newest TR trilogy (Tomb Raider, Rise of the Tomb Raider, and Shadow of the Tomb Raider) Marylin did all of that. I’m cooking guys I swear, just trust me. Then as for C.C., in my little mind, he’s half Norse and half British. So, you know that one game where Lara wields Mjölnir? (I think it was Tomb Raider Underworld?) He did that. Guys, I swear I’m cooking.

So now, cause Billy in Marvel form looks like their Dad, and Mary in Marvel form looks like Marylin, you gotta wonder what their old archeology buddies are thinking. They’re either not surprised, or they’re like are you flipping kidding me? I can imagine one of their old buddies going up to Billy and being like:

Buddy: “C.C.! You old bastard! How have you been? How’s the wife and kid? Also, quick question, you disappeared for a couple years and didn’t bother reaching out to anyone. You good?”

Billy: *Looks around before flying off cause he has no idea who this person is (he’s too young to remember them)*

I can also imagine the JL with this, specifically Batman. He runs facial recognition on Billy and finds C.C., Bruce is like okay, cool, finally, a clue about that man’s identity, only for him to find pictures, photos, and newspapers from the 40’s and 50’s (I believe in time bubble Fawcett. The Batson’s died in 58 and Billy and Mary were 8 at the time. By the time the time bubble appeared, they would’ve been 10 or 12.) So, Bruce digs a little deeper and finds that C.C. and Marylin have killed a lot of people during their time as archeologists (and they definitely have since I based them off of Lara. Guys, Lara has killed a lot of people.) He also finds out that C.C. and Marylin are dead. So now he’s left confuzzled as to who the heck Billy and Mary are, cause they look exactly like them. Or at least Marvel does and Mary looks like a teenage Marylin, so for all Bruce knows she’s Mary Batson and Marylin is actually dead. But then that raises another question for Bruce, where is Billy? Is he Captain Marvel Jr.? They look similar, but not completely. The whole thing has left Bruce with more questions than answers. It’s also left him looking at The Captain in a newer light. He didn’t think the man had the emotional capacity to have a serious relationship. (He thought he was too childish. Not that my Marvel is, he acts more like a 20 something year old guy instead of a kid) Not only that but now he at least has confirmation that Cap is human… maybe. But I also want to look at this with other heroes! Like Wildcat (the goat) he grew up during the Great Depression and due to his slow aging he was allowed to live all the way up to now. He might’ve seen the Batsons in the paper. He might’ve also read about how their plane went down. I can imagine him being like “Hmm… You’re familiar.”

There’s also Question who I know would be driven up a wall trying to figure out who Billy is, and if not Billy, then he’s trying to figure out where Marvel’s from, cause the Living Lightning is thousands of years old. Yet, he keeps getting led back to an archeologist whose plane fell down in- *gasp* Egypt! Near Kahndaq! *Double gasp* He spirals.

Then there’s also Black Adam, who does his own research on the champion. He finds out the same thing Question did about the plane. The next day he flies over to Fawcett:

Black Adam: “You sniveling worm! What were you doing near Kahndaq?!”

Billy: “Dude, what are you talking about?!”

Black Adam: “You know what I’m talking about, Batson!”

Billy: *Gives him the most horrified look Adam had ever seen on Marvel’s face.*

Oh, and let’s not forget about Ebenezer. Imagine seeing your dead brother, or at least someone that looks like your dead brother, fly around saving people. After everything he did to Billy, I’m sure he was scared shitless(pardon my French). But what I think is worse, is that he’d constantly be waiting for Marvel to do something, only for him to do nothing and just unknowingly leave Ebenezer in suspense for every waking moment. Bonus points if Ebenezer knew about the Lara Croft behavior.

[keeterz]

Time to make an updated post on the Guilty Gear artwork I've made up to this point!

First things, gotta include Bridget and Elphelt since these were made this year in 2023. Baiken, Testement, and Giovanna were done back in 2022. I think I'd like to do a Jack-O illustration at some point, and a friend of mine wants to help fund a Ramlethal print, so those might be coming up in the future at some point.

I've made some updates to the chibis as well to include a handful of the male cast! A few noteworthy mentions include an Axl that was inspired by an animation that my friend DoovadHohdan made, a Potemkin that works as a Pot Buster when you use it as a sticker on another sticker, as well as the husbandos in general being paired with plushies of their partners (well, missing Nago and Elphelt because that wasn't a thing at the time)

A little after the Elphelt illustration I also made an Elphelt chibi as well! This one will be double-sided once I convert it to a charm~

Finally, a sneak peak at something that isn't Strive related...well, not yet, at least (maybe). Here's a value comp for an ABA illustration I'm working on based on her Accent Core design! Hoping she makes it into Strive at some point.

I might want to explore doing some Accent Core related artwork in the future. Accent Core is a lot closer to the point of when I first got into the series in my middle school/highschool days, and there are some designs from the older games that are still hecking rad. Plus the music is awesome :D

It's kind of funny; I have to confess that I actually don't play Strive. Truth be told, the GGST movement and limited combo structure never clicked with me when the game first came out (and I was always more of a 3D fighter guy for gameplay with games like Tekken and Soul Calibur). And even though I am pretty sure I would actually thoroughly enjoy playing I-No and Elphelt with the season 3 changes, I just don't really do as much gaming these days since I'm more enamored with making art (and a few other things like biking). Plus I'm kind of just waiting for Tekken 8 at this point (dear god I hope the online is good just this one time god).

But as an artist? You bet your butt I hecking love coming back to Guilty Gear. I've been a fan of the series since the early 2000s (back when I stumbled across an abandonware PC version of Guilty Gear X and became sold on the series). The characters from this series check a lot of boxes for things I love to draw, from the way they are designed and all of their classic rock references all the way down to their zany personalities and backstories. And I feel like Guilty Gear is really special in this regard for me. Even though I'd rather play other fighting games (like Tekken or maybe even SF6), Guilty Gear is probably the one fighting game fandom I want to do art of the most.

If you are a Guilty Gear fan stumbling across this art collection post, hope you are enjoying the art! I will enjoy the series vicariously through you as I get back to working on some Tekken 8 artwork for Frosty Faustings, lmao. And if you're someone who is new to the series, give Strive a try! It's neat and the characters are great.

[physalian]

10 Character Dynamics the World Needs More of

Me handing out character dynamics like free samples at the Mall Food Court: “Take one! Or two! You’ll love it!”

I don’t care how many times these tropes have been done – write more of them. Write all of them. Fill out your author bingo card one by one.

1. “No one gets to kill you but me, Old Friend”

This. Right here. Primo rival content that I *live* for. All the juicy history between two old frenemies, the character drama, the backstory, the titillating unknown of what drove these two to rival status, bitter enemies that respect the heck out of each other, to the point that hell hath no fury should one get knocked down without the other’s consent.

And, of course, the moment where it seems all bets are off, when the rival comes to save their ass only to hand it back to them at a later date. The angst! The shipping fodder! Need I say more?

2. A bigger, badder villain, and their minion

You, reader, spend countless hours hating the guts of the big bad villain. They’re evil, they’re vile, they’re sadistic, heartless, irredeemable bastards. They killed your favorite character for shock value. The big bad moustache-twirling antagonist… is actually not the biggest fish in the story.

Either they’re coerced into doing evil as a puppet of the Bigger Bad, a tragic villain in their own right, or they have some reservation, some line even they won’t cross, someone else’s boots they have to kiss, someone who features in their nightmares, as they feature in the heroes. They end their stories dispatched without a thought by the Bigger Bad, or redeem themselves in death by taking out their masters. It never gets old.

3. A leader and their lancer: besties

You know what’s better than leaders and lancers who have zero faith in each other and are constantly bickering about who should be in charge? Leaders and their right-hands who adore each other (platonically). They have each other’s backs, they know each other’s greatest strengths and weaknesses and are each other’s perfect covers.

They can communicate with looks and vague gestures alone, they compliment each other’s flaws and misgivings, build up the rest of the team when they’re down on their luck, and should misfortune strike either, they pull out all the stops and show off exactly why they’re not to be trifled with, so that even the villain is afraid.

4. “I don’t even know who you are”

Oh, but you will. This one twists the knife, robbing the avenging hero of the importance in this world they’re desperate to maintain. They are their own hero, the sun revolves around them… but not to this one asshat that ruined their life and doesn’t even remember doing it.

An entire identity built upon the finding, fighting, and overcoming of this wrongdoer, every other goal in life cast aside for this one impossibility. Either the villain toys with the hero to make them irate, or gets suckerpunched by some pissant fueled by vengeance and spite and divine purpose to dole justice where justice is due.

6. The jaded badass and their naive ward

If the last 8 years of media is anything to go by, we still love this trope, whether it’s in a galaxy far, far away or a fungi-zombie post-apocalypse, or in the twilight hours of an era of legendary mutants. The best part of this trope? You get two often contradictory character types in one body. The pessimist, PTSD-ridden master of old with no living friends left and at least one dead love interest *and* beneath all that, still lies an atrophied heart of gold just waiting to be nurtured and revived.

The naive ward gets a hard lesson in how crappy the world can be, but also in how there’s still some goodness left, if their guardian cares about them. The jaded badass in turn, learns how good the world can be, that there’s something still worth fighting for beyond the next bottom of a bottle.

6. The enemy of my enemy (is my friend)

Similar to the “old friends”, this trope is often a result of the minioned Big Bad realizing they don’t want to be evil anymore. Or, bitter old rivals, sides of a war that have been fighting for generations, ideological polar opposites, fundamental polar opposites all come together when: Some evil schmuck managed to scare them both.

Doesn’t matter on what shaky ground this temporary alliance is built, or how long it lasts, equally-competent badasses on both sides finally work together and compliment each other’s strengths, and compensate for their weaknesses, in a way their teammates never could.

7. The irredeemable villain’s only wholesome connection

Not so irredeemable anymore, now are they? This trope messes with your head, taking a character you know has done heinous acts of terror, but who cares unflinchingly, unabashedly, about one thing – either their lover, their pet, their relative, or their kid.

This exists independently of the heroes and is not the same as an “oops I guess I’m your father” reveal. I’m talking this character who everyone is convinced cares about nothing and no one but themselves and their ambition still has a place in their soul for something they want to protect, they want to be loved by, or that they must spare from their atrocities.

8. Platonic Heterosexual Friendships

These two have seen each other at their most vulnerable. They’ve shared fears, dreams, desires, know each other’s deepest, darkest secrets. They’ve seen each other exhausted, frazzled, dressed up, dressed down, bloodied and broken and like a raw, open nerve. These two would die for each other, they would live for each other, and yet.

They’re not in love with each other. They’re wholly comfortable in each other’s spaces without lust and desire mucking up the atmosphere. Neither is the one, neither wants to be the one. They remain together not for the bonds of romance, but for the bonds of friendship, and nothing could be stronger.

10. The Ace and their best friend, the Self-Proclaimed Slut

These two respect the f*ck out of each other. One never mocks the other for lacking desire and in return, they’re never mocked for their promiscuity. They’ll never walk in each other’s shoes, but they don’t need to, to understand that’s just how some people are. They’re each other’s safest spaces when the world doesn’t take either of them seriously.

They’re each other’s biggest defenders against the bullies, presumers, the holier-than-thous who think they have it all figured out. They’re the perfect compliment to give advice on everything from relationships to the best outfits for an outing because there’s *zero sexual tension* between them. Or, maybe, if the stars align, they’re something more.

10. The redeeming villain, and their staunchest skeptic

This villain has lost everything – their home, the respect of their people, their worth, their evil ambition, their identity, and has begun working their way up from rock bottom doing everything in their power to show the heroes that they’re serious. They make amends, they break their bones proving themselves, they’ve swayed everyone they’ve wronged in the hero camp.

Except one. The one character that was probably their first defender, and got burned for it. The character that was naive enough to think this villain could be saved, and was wrong. The character that won’t be duped again without some serious drama and soul-bearing between them.

Now tell me which ones I missed!

[farshootergotme]

That post about Dick's training in contrast to the other Robins...

Canonically, the Justice League trained Dick.

It's mentioned in one of the Grayson comics. Dick is kind of fighting an Amazo robot which has the combined powers of all JL members - and Dick knows how to take it down because he has been trained by and fought beside those Leaguers.

Imagine the Justice League sort of ending up co-parenting the Bat's bouncy little Robin.

Yeah, Bruce is paranoid, but he is also a twenty-something single dad to a hyperactive traumatized little sunshine kid, he will take whatever help he can get.

It is actually canon in the World's Finest comics (both silver age and current) that Bruce and Clark basically act as Robin!Dick's dads. Silver Age World's Finest has them taking the Baby Robin to fairs, parks, or to the Fortress just to hang out and play with Clark's intergalactic pets...

Basically, the justice league collectively trains the little acrobat. Ollie teaching him archery. Diana coaching him in sword fighting and lasso. Clark teaching him kryptonian (and acting skills - how to present yourself to the public as a symbol of brightness, not terror). J'onn teaching him mental defense techniques.

The first Robin is Justice League's collective nephew/student.

So...if it comes to people one trained under... Dick can add the entire Justice League in his resume. And also the Titans, given how they trained together...

Yes, thank you! Dick has trained with others than Bruce. Heck, you could say he trains with most members of the batfam, not just Batman, which is a lot already. And, as you mentioned, he also trained with the Justice League:

Grayson #8

In Robin: Year One (#4) it's shown as well how in his Robin days he trained with a subdivision of the League of Assassins, the Vengeance Academy.

We know that he's trained with the Titans (being a team and all), and that's quite a diverse team, so you know he must've learnt lots of things from his teammates.

And if you want to count it, his training as an acrobat since he was practically a toddler can also be added, his parents and probably other members of the circus being his teachers.

Then, going back to Grayson, you can say he also trained with Spyral. He didn't spend months there just to learn nothing.

And this might be wrong, so don't quote me on this, but wasn't he in the Court of Owls for a bit during his time as Ric Grayson? (could be confused, since I just remember hearing something about it. Please correct me if I'm wrong.)

And fighting villains such as Deathstroke teaches you some stuff, too.

So, overall, Dick's skills has been learnt through various groups and individuals. To say all his training comes from Bruce is straight up wrong.

[py-dreamer]

Macaque is big spoon

Lol the old men be snoozin and snugglin

(I was about to say sleeping but my mind is too dirty for that unfortunately-)

Y'wanna know why he big spoon?

The sun and moon thingy they have going on and...

Ehh, ehh? Y'see what I did there?

I hate fabric so god damn much.

WHY CAN'T YOU BEHAVE AND STAY STILL GODDAMN.

WHY MUST YOU CREASE AND HAVE LAYERS?!!? WHY CAN'T YOU BE SIMPLE AND FLAT

SAME WITH MACACA'S FUR.

WHY ARE YOU BLACK?!! HOW DO I RENDER YOU

TO QUOTE MY PAST SELF: "his true evil power is how hard he can be to draw"

LIKE MY DUDE. HOWWWWW.

Regardless, I'm still really happy with how the drawing came out like the lighting and stuff (just don't look at the fabric-)

Wukong couldn't give less than a flying f*ck if his pajamas matched. Like he's at home, let him be as much of a fashion disaster as he wants!

Heck, back in his day, he was prancing with a leaf skirt and that was acceptable, let the monkey be damnit.

But he would own something very funky like those peach shorts but specifically wear them on break days or in private

(Mac definitely made an inappropriate joke bout it; he has a mark you could read the king's fortune off of, on his right cheek-)

Mac loves his clouds cloudy king so sure, slap them on his pants I think he'd have those long fluffy or silky pajama pants and he like has a couple he switches out for every now and them.

Wukong struck me as a big shirt, short shorts guy

and Mac'doodles as a small shirt, big pants

On a more angsty note, after death I think he'd be a lot colder like its harder to generate body heat naturally so he'd be a lot more cuddly with his toasted marshmallow king cause he was literally toasty fried for 49 days in heaven (49 earth years if 1 year in heaven is a year belief is true)

I was really debating if they'd be in a tree like normal monkeys or in the stone palace cause like that's a whole thing.

Wukong is not only a king in name, he's got riches and a whole ass stone mansion, I want my boi to one day overcome his guilt and indesire for self care and move into the big boi house with his husbando...one day.

But until then, a girl can dream.

Cause come on, that'd be cool. I understand it'd feel real lonely without the stalwart generals and brotherhood but like he has new company and rekindling with his warrior might help with that.

I also think they'd rather sleep in a cozy lil alclove or like the beds in historical c-dramas that are kinda built in and they build a mini nest of sorts.

I was going to draw the monkeys but tbh, just wasn't feelin it...

Also wanted their tails to make a heart but the lil pointy bit always bugs me so I tried to make it into a more plausible scenario

And irl updates, I have been like formally rehearsing for a performance all week (as in a play) and practicing all day, just watched the 1st cast do it and its my turn tomorrow so wish me luck!

(btw I'm working with young kids, like 8-12 young and they all congregated around me when they saw me drawing like I was a glorified babysitter

And the amount of times I had to put the message on Mac's shirt on a different layer and hide it like bruh. The kids are lovely and all and I'd be happy to show my work but as you can see...not all of my works are...100% PG)

(pls reblog and feedback and stuff, I worked hard on this plss I beg...)

[bratbarzal]

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.”