#but tbh I am meant to use the gifts I have! But only in the right context

[itspileofgoodthings]

also I had a breakthrough today that I had in fact overthought a Specific Problem to Death and that I had created a monster in my own mind and that’s why it felt like I was being eaten alive every time I tried to solve it.

[honeyhivess]

i can't help falling in love with you <3

first 3 overblot boys falling in love with gender neutral reader

tags: cursing, might be ooc i am new to writing them

riddle rosehearts <3

riddle would only be open to dating someone after his overblot, he's such a stickler for the rules and didn't allow himself to truly let go and have fun until after the blot incident

he would be really scared to get into a relationship because of his parents, mostly his mom

he didn't want to get older and become his mother and treat his significant other like she treated him

you would probably have to be really close to him for him to start liking you tbh

the realization honestly hits him in the middle of the night

after doing his nightly routine he got into bed and relaxed, thinking over the unbirthday party that happened that night

adeuce had invited you to attend since you helped paint the roses, and since riddle had a bit of a soft spot for you by now he happily allowed it

you had a chair on one of the long sides of the table, closest to his chair at the head

late in the night his mind kept replaying you laughing at one of trey's bad jokes

oh shit.

riddle would be eyes open, staring at the wall in realization

the warmth he felt in his chest remembering your bright smile that day had him pleasantly overwhelmed

he never had the chance to crush on anyone else before since his mom so heavily sheltered him

this feeling came to him unknown and he was confused

he had a hard time falling asleep that night, and the next morning he immediately rushed to trey

after being teased a bit and prodded a bit more he realized he liked you

which, scared him

a couple days after he found out just what those feelings meant, he would have a hard time facing you

he didn't know what to do with this newfound information

you would have to confront him and make him tell you why he was borderline avoiding you

his face is RED red

he wouldn't stutter and would still kinda talk normally, but it would be more rushed

"Prefect... I've had the realization that I, really like you... If you would indulge me, I would love to take you out sometime...?"

leona kingscholar <3

...eh

lions normally have a pride of females, so leona is kinda used to flirting and romance

however, he is the bastard second born, so he isn't used to being the center of attention

when he met you, he saw an opportunity to have the chance at romancing someone without his brother looming over his shoulder

you hadn't even HEARD of his brother, which meant you couldn't even really pick falena over him

this excited leona a lot, so he got really territorial over you really fast

he would also put quite a bit of effort into wooing you, well, more than normal

he really tries to make himself just generally more appealing

he's nicer when you're around and started taking care of himself a bit more

it's a subtle change to you, but he gets DESTROYED by ruggie

when he initially realized he liked you he didn't have any big reaction

he's been through a couple relationships prior to you so it's not really anything new to him

you will start being dragged into his schemes more

also known as i really hope you like napping because you're about to get crushed

he drags you into his naps a lot, and he lays directly on top of you

you will not escape.

also he starts giving you a lot of things, gifts, food, clothing

he's not a hopeless romantic so don't really expect any super grand gestures

he also doesn't really confess? he kinda just asks you out

confessing is lame to him, it's juvenile

"Ay, herbivore? You free this saturday? You better be, I need a date to this dumb restaurant."

azul ashengrotto <3

motherfucker is NOT confessing first

i really hate to break it to you, but after his childhood, he does not have the confidence for that

now, azul may not confess, but he will flirt

...badly...

when he realized he kinda panicked and was immediately overwhelmed with worst case scenarios

he does not think you would ever like him, when he was younger he tried confessing to someone and got laughed at

so that kinda crushed him

jade and floyd would not be told, but they would notice very quickly

azul gets flustered when you're around and you get offered discounts occasionally

at first they thought azul wanted something materialistic from you

no he just wants your hand in marriage

they immediately become his wingmen, but

they are kinda the world's worst wingmen

jade is actually pretty good at highlighting azuls charms and good traits, but he also loves embarrassing azul in front of you

floyd is, floyd

he's a bit louder and much less subtle

and when combined they just start embarrassing azul, the poor octo-mer is dying

now, if you start hinting towards liking azul back, it is on

he immediately goes back into his smooth personality and he will start flirting with you

it starts of subtle, but it will become more apparent as time goes on

if you're really lucky and catch him on a good day, he'll ask you out

he'll invite you to monstro lounge, no one else will be there and you will be treated like royalty

jade would be the one serving you and floyd would be watching very intently from the kitchen

everything is on the house, just for you

"Have whatever you'd like, Prefect. This is all but a little taste of what more is to come."

a/n: i had so much fun writing azuls, i love octavinelle so much asdfghjk

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Five

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

*I say it's an OC, it's just a name and third person POV. I use minor character descriptions because I don’t get on with writing vague reader inserts/YN for long-form, story heavy fics, but I will generally try to avoid including race and body type or really any physical descriptors. I’m always open to feedback on my writing, or how to be more inclusive.

WC: 17k (holy moly)

Chapter Warnings: I tried to sprinkle some fluffy flashbacks and smutty references later in here just to lighten the mood but this is angsty!! probably cursing I honestly can't remember, and serious warnings rn mentions of hacking/gossip blogs/blackmail/cyber bullying/nudes being leaked, talia is her own warning tbh. I tried not to make a cliched ex comes in between them plot and idk how it comes across but yeah I was trying to toe the line between it being interesting/different and then going too far and not being able to write around it which is why the plot kind of fixes itself quick and is a leeeetle bit bad but there's some unresolved bitterness in that relationship for sure lmao she has a LOT 2 say!! did I mention there's angst in here? insecurity/self-doubt and miscommunication!!! in abundance!!! but!! luke is a cutey patootie in this I wrote his part with a lil smile on my face 💖 also a ridiculous conversation about huffing glue lmao

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Four)

A/N: ok so in the grand scheme of things this is both a filler chapter and also like a pivotal point in the story to set something later up, but when I was planning this entire fic out, the only directive I gave myself for this specific chapter was insert angst. you wouldn't believe the amount of times I've written and rewritten and gone back and forth on what's in here. it's the kind of instruction only a complete melon would give themselves and I clearly just hate myself in ways that are spooky and strange to submit myself to this kind of torture.

and I hear your cries of hasn’t this fic just been angst so far??? yes!! you may be correct!! but you don’t get a rainbow without a bit of rain hun!!! grab an umbrella!!! I promise good will come of this lmao

I'm sorry this one took so long, it's the only chapter I didn't have any kind of plan or direction for obviously and I tried to come up with so many different options for the talia plot before I landed on whatever this is, but the next one I do have some scenes written out in my plan so shouldn't be as long in between. my goal has always been a chapter a week but like I said the other day work has been a lot for me the past couple of weeks so I am genuinely sorry for making you wait!!

you guys were very fun and very kind to me after the last chapter so please please please lets keep the good vibes going come chat to me about your thoughts about the fic about the weather about anything!! 💓

Nico

When Nico and Talia had first started dating, there had been an element of excitement to the dynamic. Nico hadn’t properly dated anyone in a while - had casual flings here and there, and for the most part spent his time swallowing down his burgeoning feelings for his best friend - and there was a novelty to starting something with someone new.

He had all the intentions of building something serious with her. She was fun, got on with his friends, had ties close to home that meant he wouldn’t be putting a wedge between the two of them should he want to travel back in his breaks, and sinking his teeth into the challenges of a relationship was something that actually intrigued him.

He liked planning dates, liked buying gifts to see that buzz of joy and gratitude it would elicit, and he liked the companionship - liked having someone there when he came back from a long roadie or a tough string of games. 

He liked it so much he never really opened his eyes to the fact that Talia didn’t. 

She didn’t like the dates he planned - didn’t like the restaurants he chose, the movies he wanted to share with her, the bars him and the guys frequented. She didn’t like America, didn’t like their coffee shops, thought their pastries were packed with too much sugar, their portion sizes were too large for her ever to enjoy going for lunch, always complaining about feeling bloated and sluggish after every meal. She hated Jersey - wanted to spend all her time across the Hudson, looking down on everyone she met and everywhere they went together. She didn’t make much use of the gifts he bought her - let every bouquet of flowers die a quick, careless death, said the watch he bought her didn’t go with enough of her other jewellery and turned her nose up at every effort he made to make his apartment feel more like her home. 

She wasn’t all that comforting when it came to companionship, either. Rolled her eyes when he came home aching and exhausted, went out without him on the days he was coming back from a roadie and returned home when he had long retired to his bed. She would always want to meet up with her girlfriends instead of hanging around the team, and only ever wanted to come to games if she could bring her own entourage - mostly to show off her connections and hardly ever to actually support him.

And so, despite the initial attraction, despite the excitement that first came with their blossoming relationship, Nico can only look at Talia with disinterest and frigidity now.

He barely greets her as he opens the door to his apartment, moving aside to let her in and waiting for her to trudge her small case in behind her before he closes it, leaning against the surface and watching her discard her bag and keys on the counter with familiarity.

When she turns to face him, running a hand through her hair and huffing out a big sigh, he takes in her dishevelled appearance.

Even when travelling, Talia usually takes great pride in her pristine exterior - hair blow-dried, outfit co-ordinated and steam-pressed to perfection, not a crease or stain in sight, and usually a light layer of makeup to cover the slight imperfections like the darkened under eyes and redness around her nose. This isn’t like her.

She looks like she’s been messing with her hair the whole 8 hour flight out and beyond, her eyes are rimmed-red with smudges of brown at the corners, her lips are chapped and swollen like she’s been crying, and her sweatpants don’t match her hoodie. It’s almost like she’d thrown on whatever she could find and caught the first flight out, fresh out of bed.

“What’s going on?” He cuts straight to the chase, losing all formality and courtesy. He should feel bad for his callous greeting, but she had broken up with him over text not even a month ago - she doesn’t exactly deserve outstretched arms and a warm embrace, he thinks.

“Hi Talia, how have you been, Talia? It’s nice to see you Talia.” She mocks, a frown overtaking her features immediately. “I’m absolutely amazing, thanks for caring, Nico!” Sarcasm spews from her tongue like pure venom, and his eyes practically roll into the back of his head.

Nico pushes himself off of the door, heavy footsteps leading him into his kitchen where he can make himself a coffee to get through this. His watch reads 6:05 - far too early for her antics - and rising to her nagging is only going to make things worse.

“Do you want a drink?” He asks, as he busies himself with his coffee press, unable to look at her too long without the pricks of guilt irritating him.  He doesn’t even know what he has to feel guilty about.

“I’ll get it myself,” she scoffs, venturing over to the fridge and pouring out some orange juice - her movements around his space eerily natural. She slams back most of the drink as he works out how to brew his coffee - but she sees right through him. He’s hardly ever used the press before, and he’s just doing so now to avoid her in whatever capacity he can. “I need money.”

Nico’s almost positive he hasn’t heard her right - that there’s some kind of mix up between her standard German and his Swiss - and he slowly turns to properly face her, brows slanting into a deep frown as he assesses her expression.

She has a hand on her hip, her jaw set and her eyes darkened and serious. 

“You have money.”

Talia comes from money - her father is some kind of film producer and her mother an artist, if Nico remembers correctly - and she makes good money, herself. She’s been a print model since she was scouted in some market in Munich since she was 15, has had her face plastered in ads in magazines and catalogues around the world. She’s hardly strapped for cash. She gets things gifted to her by whatever company she can get a hold of. What could she possibly need him to give her money for?

“Not enough.” Her tone is cold, her demeanour the same, and if Nico can still gauge her emotions correctly, there’s an element of blame that she is starting to shift towards him, and his whole body starts to feel tense.

“Not enough for what?”

He can’t quite tell what feeling washes over him - worry, at the thought she’s gotten herself into some kind of trouble, stress, at the thought this could be a recurring thing, and potentially pity, at the way she’s so clearly carrying the weight of something heavy - something she’s lugged all the way across the Atlantic on a long haul flight with her.

“Not enough to pay the guy who’s blackmailing me not to leak the videos that I sent to you.”

“What vide-“ he bites back, and the immediate arch of her brow tells him all he needs to know. “Oh.”

Shit.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?” She sneers, fury in her gaze and dismay in her tone. “You’ve ruined my life, and all I get is an oh?”

“Whoa, slow down, I’ve ruined your life?”

Nico has never been one to shame any girl for sending explicit pictures - he’d been more than willing to receive them at the time - but he hadn’t ever forced her hand. He hadn’t even asked her for them, in the first place. 

She’d taken it upon herself to spice things up, as she had put it at the time, when the team had gone on the road in early December. It was just after he’d returned from his injury - a time in which he’d spent mentally distanced from her as he’d focused so much on getting back to the game, their relationship consisting mainly of not-so-passionate sex to avoid aggravating his injury and hardly of any kind of meaningful conversation - and she had thought that keeping him on his toes on a roadie would mean he’d come back more interested than ever.

If he’d been looking out for red flags at the time, he might have caught that blaring one; needing to try new things only a few months into a relationship to keep it fun and light.

He’d been in his hotel room in Seattle, freshly showered and ready to throw himself straight into bed when his phone had started to ping. It was suggestive texts at first, are you alone? And I’m thinking about you. Then it had been pictures, hands over lingerie and fingers between glossy, pouted lips.

And then videos, one after the other before he had any chance to respond - her phone set up far enough away that her whole body was in frame, touching herself while laying on his bed and calling out for him.

He had called her instead of sending anything back, and as he realises the severity of the situation, a selfish part of him is glad he did so.

“Talia, I didn’t even save those videos, and I definitely didn’t show them to anyone else.”

Nico could never. Not only for the fact that he was raised to be a decent human being, but he has a sister - if anyone ever did that to Nina, he’d tear them apart, limb from limb. 

“You’re the only person I’ve ever sent anything to.” She seems to have made her mind up, and Nico feels as if his heart plummets through his torso at the realisation. She’s travelled all this way because she genuinely believes he’s the cause of this - that he’s shared intimate videos of her without her consent, to someone who would extort her for them. “And he sent me some pictures as proof, had information about me like the address of this apartment.”

“Talia, I swear on my mother’s life, I wouldn’t do that to you - to anyone, not ever.”

Tears well in her crystalline eyes, and Nico waits with bated breath as she assesses the situation in her head. 

He isn’t a liar - he has never given her a reason to think he is one. In their time together, he had always been honest, always been loyal, and he hopes at the very least - despite her obvious distain for him now, and how little she ended up caring about their relationship in the end to cut it off in the way she did - she thought of him as kind. 

He can do nothing but be patient, let her come to whatever conclusion on her own, and it’s only when he spots the quiver in her bottom lip that he takes an apprehensive step forward, ready to console her if needed.

She practically throws herself into his arms, wrapping her own around his waist and bawling into his chest, and all he can do is hold her and wait. He tries to rub a soothing hand up and down her back, holding the other against her head as her body wracks with sobs. All he can feel is the pounding of his own heartbeat, pulsing throughout his entire body until it’s all he can hear, too.

Nico does his best to comfort her, shushing and cooing and whispering how it’s going to be alright, but it does little to help. She’s beyond relief.

“There’s a guy who said he can track whoever is doing this to me,” she sniffles as she pulls herself away. “He’s in Jersey City Heights, he’s some sort of ethical hacker, whatever that means, I’m going to meet him and he’s gonna go through my phone.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Nico doesn’t even hesitate to ask - if not to protect her, and make sure she isn’t unknowingly getting herself into an even more dangerous situation, then to protect himself too. If someone has Talia’s pictures, and she only sent them to him, there’s a possibility his phone had been hacked, and if this guy is as ethical as he says, maybe he can check Nico’s stuff, too, just to be safe.

She gives him an appreciative smile, eyes still glassy and cheeks flushed. “I’d really appreciate that.”

“I’m gonna shower, then we can go. You can grab whatever to eat while you’re waiting.” He backs away from her completely, only just able to acknowledge the ache in his muscles once the intensity of the situation has settled a little, and he just needs to stand under the steaming spray and clear his mind before he properly immerses himself in her company. 

He has a lot more than this whole mess that he needs to think about, and maybe a shower can bring him a little clarity on how exactly he’s going to explain himself to the beautiful girl whose bed he had abruptly left not even an hour ago. 

“Why are you dressed?”

Nico stops in his tracks.

When he had got back to his apartment, he’d made a little effort for it to seem like he’d been there all night. He’d gone through to his bedroom, mussed up his sheets to make it seem like he had been sleeping in them - and not with the anticipation that Talia was going to be entering his bedroom, but with her, he never knows - trying to retrace the steps of his usual routine before he goes to bed, he had closed all the blinds, had moved his gym bag by the door.

But he hadn’t changed.

Still adorned in his sweatshirt and jeans from the night before, the clothing feels all that much heavier on his body as she brings attention to it, and he quickly racks his brain to come up with a valid excuse that doesn’t rouse further suspicion.

“I fell asleep in these clothes.” As easy as the lie comes out, he doesn’t feel great saying it. Doesn’t feel like erasing the night he had shared with Poppy is for the greater good, even if it is just to Talia, but avoiding another difficult conversation is a must right now - especially when he’d already lied to her on the phone. “Was out late with the guys last night, Timo threw a party for my birthday.”

“Right,” she drags out, and when he turns back around, she casts a scrutinising glance over him, top to bottom. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“No worries,” he shrugs, genuinely not offended. She has no reason to remember his birthday. Not anymore. “Like I said, help yourself to whatever, I’ll try not to be long.” 

When he undresses for his shower, he’s thankful he hadn’t had the foresight to change in anticipation of Talia’s arrival. He probably would have donned a t-shirt and some shorts, oblivious to the visible indents on his thighs where Poppy had dug her nails in as she took him in her mouth.

His chest and torso are littered with scratches, some faint, some a little deeper, and he can’t get the right angle to see his back but he imagines they’re the same - the memory of her clutching at him as both of their climaxes approached is vivid enough for him to picture the marks she left behind.

He groans as the thought of her brings back that swirling feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he notices the blooming arousal pool there, and feels himself harden as he steps under the spray of his shower.

If his phone had been on do not disturb through the night, he could be in the shower with Poppy, instead.

He could have woken up to her in his arms, could have pecked at her sleep-swollen lips until it brought her out of her slumber, and spent his morning making up for lost time just like he had promised her last night. He could have made light work of the pleasure he had given her the night before - could have had her underneath him in her bed, tangled up in the mess of sheets and falling apart before they shared a morning shower, where he’d have held her up against the tiles and would’ve moved into her until they couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He’d have made her breakfast, something sweet, so that as she sat and watched him atop the kitchen counter he had tasted her on for the first time not even 12 hours before, he’d press his tongue into her mouth after she had eaten and savour the flavour of strawberries that had settled between her lips.

Instead, he’s here, turning the temperature of his water down until any and all excitement in his body is dampened, and all he can focus on is the effect the cold has on all his other aching muscles.

Once he has showered and gotten dressed - and has come to the conclusion that any further thoughts about Poppy need to wait until the Talia problem is resolved and out of his hands, he finds his ex girlfriend sprawled across his couch, music playing from the speaker in the corner, and taking helping herself to a whole new level. 

Her case is opened where she had left it by the door, and she’s set herself a little vanity up on his coffee table, fixing her appearance before they leave.

She’s changed out of her mismatched sweats, has dressed herself in jeans and a sweater, and has found an extension cable long enough for her to plug in whatever hot tool she’s currently running through her hair.

“You take the longest showers in the history of man,” she rolls her eyes, not even casting a glance his way as she focuses on her own reflection in the little mirror she must have brought with her. “I do not want to know what it is you get up to in there.”

“I was barely 30 minutes, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, almost,” she runs the tool through her bangs until they flick out at the edges on either side of her face, and it reminds him of all the times he had watched her while waiting for her to finish getting ready. It makes him feel uneasy how familiar it all is, how she’s so quickly made herself at home again in his space.

He wants to tell her she needs to pack her stuff back up, that she won’t be staying here and needs to give his keys back, but the weight of the situation at hand dawns on him before he can open his mouth.

He’ll wait until they get back later, his decision depending on the outcome of their visit to her hacker friend.

As much as he doesn’t want her around, he isn’t going to kick her out with no place to go if her life is still shrouded in unsafe circumstances. 

Talia unplugs her stuff, wraps the cord around the handle of the brush she was using, and places it on a mat she must have brought with her so it doesn’t burn through the surface of the table. “Kay, let’s go.”

She marches ahead of him, picking up her bag and keys on the way out and leaving him to lock up while she calls for the elevator. They wait together in silence, his heart thudding an anxious rhythm in his chest as he anticipates the arrival of the elevator - and thankfully, it arrives empty.

He tries to distance himself from her as they enter, him standing in one corner, and hoping she takes the other, but she doesn’t quite get the memo, standing obliviously in the centre as she types away to someone on her phone and he presses the button to go to the basement.

Nico watches the numbers go down with bated breath. His floor, the next, the next one after that, and he uses any good will he has left with the universe to hope and pray it skips the floor coming up - but, as is just his luck, the elevator comes to a stop with a soft thud, and the doors open to reveal the very situation he’s been hoping to avoid. 

Jack walks straight in, eyes cast down to the phone in his hands, distractedly typing away and not even noticing the button for the parking level has been pressed before he pushes it, himself.

Luke notices straight away, halting in his movements to enter the space as his gaze flickers between the two people already occupying it. 

He diverts his eyes when they meet Nico’s head dropping as he steps in and stands beside his brother, uttering a quick greeting of, “Hey, Cap.”

Jack’s attention is captured immediately, spinning at an almost dizzying speed to face his captain, phone disregarded into his back pocket. “Schao! I thought you’d be at-,”

He’s thankfully able to tune into his perception before he carries on with his train of thought, a subtle movement in his peripheral diverting his gaze to the figure stood to the side of Nico. 

“Talia. Hi.”

“Hi, Jack.” Nico cringes inwardly at how disinterested she sounds. “Luke.” Talia had never really cared for Nico’s teammates - especially not the younger guys like Jack and Luke. She was quick to pass judgement, making comments on their maturity, or apparent lack-thereof, and wasn’t the biggest fan of how close Nico was with the pair. Didn’t like the time or attention he gave them considering the close quarters they lived in, and had always been resentful. She always claimed her English wasn’t good enough to hold a proper conversation with them, but he’d seen her enough around her American friends to know it wasn’t true.

“We’re just meeting up with some of the guys for breakfast.” Jack says, cautiously, in an attempt to fill the silence. The invitation remains unspoken, but Nico can tell in the way the younger boy cocks his head and meets his eye that he’s gauging his current situation for the morning.

“We have plans.” Talia must be able to tell what he was getting at, too and Nico can see Luke’s eyes narrow as soon as the word resonates in his head. Plans. Pre-meditated. Made before she had sprung all of this on him within the last hour or two. Panic stirs within him, and his throat itches to speak the truth, but it’s just not the right time to do so with Talia stood beside him. If he starts getting defensive, she’ll start asking questions, and the boys will have to bear witness to him skirting around the matter of Poppy. 

It’s not a good look no matter which way he swings it. He’s stuck in a thick, dark, tarry mess of not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings but making all the wrong decisions. A minefield of not knowing how to explain himself without raising a million questions on either side, and hoping one of the brothers might toe the line of the boundaries of their relationship and just straight up ask why Talia is here.

He knows he has fucked up without the way neither of them are looking him in the eye.

He knew it the second Poppy’s door had locked behind him this morning - he doesn’t need Luke refusing to meet his gaze, doesn’t need Jack’s shifting side eye to tell him he’s made a mistake. 

“I’ll text you later.” Nico says, mainly to Jack but still trying to meet his brother’s eyes with no luck. It’s an attempt to say something, without saying anything. A silent beg not to jump to conclusions about what they’ve seen - and, although he knows they wouldn’t, not to tell anyone else. Not whichever of the guys they are meeting up with, not anyone else on the team, and definitely not Poppy.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack mutters in a poor attempt to hide his discomfort, and an even worse attempt at masking his relief when the doors ping open on the parking level.

“Have fun with your plans,” Luke huffs out, his tone like a tight fist clutching at Nico’s chest despite his courteous choice of words.

“We will,” Talia forces a smile. Nico gets the feeling she isn’t as oblivious to the tension as he hopes she is.

The four of them separate into their pairs with mumbled goodbyes, Jack and Luke heading off to Luke’s car on one side of the garage, and Nico and Talia heading to his on the other, and Nico can’t even let out a sigh of pseudo-relief before Talia jumps on him.

“That was weird.”

“We broke up, they weren’t expecting to see us together.” He quickly excuses as he starts the car up, turning on the heat and hoping the soft buzz of the air will fill the silence enough that she doesn’t feel the need to talk. 

“It’s been like 3 weeks, most couples get back together after their first breakup.”

Has it only been 3 weeks? He thinks, shuddering at how little time had actually passed between her sending that text and him restoring balance to his life.

“We’re not most couples,” he shrugs, shutting that train of thought immediately as he starts to make his way out of the parking garage, ascending the ramp where the doors open up to reveal the dull beam of the winter morning sun. “You dumped me over text a week before Christmas, we’re not getting back together.”

“Oh yeah, I bet you were real cut up about it,” she jibes, sarcastically. “Probably landed straight in the bed of some desperate puck bunny more than happy to take your mind off of how awful I was to you.”

His mind immediately goes to Poppy, to last night, to her bed - and despite the complete bullshit Talia has fabricated in her head, despite how much he wants to tell her she has it all wrong, he can’t bear to twist himself even further into knots to skirt around mentioning the girl who did make him better.

“We’re not having this conversation right now.” He decides, tapping at the screen in the console of his car until he brings up the navigation. “Put in the address you need, we’re not too far from The Heights.”

The location she enters into the system is for an unassuming condo in a quiet, suburban area. The neighbourhood itself is picturesque, the buildings colourful, the paths lined with trees that seemed to flourish even in the midst of winter, and when Nico pulls up across the street, he notices the amount of families around - parents walking their kids to school and couples with dogs getting their morning steps in. It’s the last place he imagines some hacker to be shacked up, but maybe that’s the point.

He still doesn’t entirely understand the ethical part.

“It’s the one with the red brick and the balcony,” Talia points to the other side of the road as she unbuckles her seatbelt, and Nico looks over at the building as if he’s going to be able to see all the secrets stored within it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, number 414.” She shows him the messages she has exchanged with the guy, and sure enough, the address matches up. “C’mon, the sooner we get in there, the sooner we can figure this out.”

He follows her across the street, adjusting the cap he wears atop his head and making sure it conceals his identity from anyone with eyesight good enough to catch it, trying to shrug off the discomfort of the whole situation as he waits for someone to pick up the buzzer Talia relentlessly presses.

He hears a different kind of buzz, lighter, like the manual zoom of a camera, and cranes his neck to assess their surroundings as they wait, before he catches sight of the device in the top corner of the porch, facing directly onto them.

He hears the click of a lock as soon as his eyes make contact with the thing, and cautiously tries the handle on the door until it pushes all the way down, letting them into the building. 

The door to the ground floor condo is open, and stood in the entrance is a guy no older than 20, dressed in all black with dark, beady eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. If Nico could find it in him to see the humour in the situation, he’d laugh at how he looks like Luke - a mop of curly brown hair, tall with a slim build and ever so slightly poor posture.

He straightens up as the two of them approach, Nico keeping Talia behind him as he assesses the safety of the situation. If they’re being lured into some kind of trap, he could definitely take this guy - he can’t even maintain direct eye contact, never mind manage to subdue a man of Nico’s stature.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone, Talia.”

He’s soft-spoken, his voice ever so nasally, and despite the fact that he’s talking to the girl behind him, his gaze has settled on Nico’s chest.

“My name’s Nico.” He introduces himself, holding out a hand to shake. He thinks he can write him off as a threat, for now, and if making him feel comfortable encourages him to help them, he wants to put him at ease. “

“I know who you are.” He doesn’t shake Nico’s hand. “I’m Myles. Come in.”

Myles doesn’t wait for the two of them, marching back into his place and leaving the door open for Talia and Nico to enter and close behind them. 

Nico isn’t surprised by the space - from his brief encounter with the resident so far, it fits him to a tee; neat, impersonal, furniture that looks fresh out of a catalogue. He follows him over to the corner of his living room, a PC set up with several monitors that he can’t tell are on until they’re standing straight in front of them.

Myles throws himself down into the large swivel chair, spinning until he’s facing the two of them and crossing his arms over his torso with disinterest. “So, nudes?”

Straight to the point. Nico can’t exactly be mad at it.

Talia steps out from behind him, handing her unlocked phone to Myles. “The messages started last week, just after New Years. Straight to my number, not in DMs or anything, but the number doesn’t even come up for me to call it from another phone or anything, just says unknown.”

Myles takes her phone and plugs it into his setup without even looking at whatever she has opened on it, and Nico watches as the screens come alive with mirrors of the device and some other apps that launch as soon as it connects. 

“That’s more helpful than you think, they have to use an app to be able to anonymously text you, makes it easier to identify them.”

The way Myles talks is monotonous and detached, but the way he works is anything but. His fingers move quicker than Nico’s eyes can track on his keyboard, typing away at whatever as different things flash up and leave his screen. It like something straight out of a spy movie.

“So we can find out who it is just from that?” He asks, arms folding over his chest as he watches in almost-awe.

“Not exactly. If it is a hacker, I could identify their signature. Doesn’t mean I could identify them, but we can work around it potentially.”

Talia throws herself down on the couch behind them exasperatedly, sighing loudly and making her displeasure known. “You told me you could track them down, that’s what I’m paying you to do.”

“I told you I could help you, I didn’t say I could specifically track anyone, that’s not how this works.”

“How does it work then?” Nico asks.

Myles wheels his chair to the side to make room for Nico to get closer, and starts walking him through the process, pointing through the different apps he uses and explaining how he uses them. One deciphers which app the person used to message Talia. Once that’s been deduced, he uses another to enter a backdoor into that app’s servers, perusing through them until he finds the account that sent the text, making sure the date, time and then content line up. Once he’s found the account, he can see the other texts sent from it, and a gallery spreads across two screens, with maybe hundreds of pictures, videos, messages and transactions all to or from that same account.

“You’re telling me you have the power to do all this and you don’t use it to like rob banks or something?”

“Ethical hacker, clue’s in the name.” Myles shrugs. Nico looks back to Talia, her jaw set as she picks at her nails out of boredom. It’s probably taken about fifteen minutes for this guy to work an absolute miracle, and she looks like she couldn’t care less. “We use all this information, and the access I have on the server, to shut this dude down and cut his con before he can do it to anyone else.”

“Whoa whoa,” Talia shoots up, “Won’t that make him mad? Make him just post all the photos?”

“I doubt it,” the hacker comments, bringing up a couple of the photos on the screens, some of Talia, some of another girl, making Nico divert his eyes. “They’re not even real.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Excuse me?”

Talia and Nico both question at the same time, leaning in to get a proper look to confirm what is being told to them. The other pictures Myles had brought up, the ones of other girls, are actually kind of the same. The same poses, the same backgrounds, the same outfits, or lack thereof, just different faces and different hair.

“They’re called deep fakes. Photoshop, essentially.” He has that aloof tone to his words again, and Nico can’t quite believe how simple it seems for him to say. “They put a bunch of your pictures into an AI generator and give it instruction, like put this face on a body posed like this or wearing that. I’d assume the video they have is the same.”

“How is that even possible?” Talia gasps, pushing herself forward and snatching the mouse from Myles’ grasp. She clicks into what she assumes is the video, and it starts playing before she can think better of it, thankfully without any sound. 

It’s Talia - that much is obvious from the initial close up of her face - but Nico doesn’t recognise anything else about it. He doesn’t recognise the room she’s in, the bed she’s on, the things she’s doing. He’s never seen this before. It’s definitely not one of the videos she had sent him, and when he looks closer, he realises the little moles on her ribs aren’t even there.

None of it is real.

“You said he sent you the photos? You didn’t realise they weren’t the ones you took?” He can’t conceal the bite in his tone, his brows furrowing as he looks at her in disbelief. She’s flown out here, disrupted his peace, blamed him for blackmailing her, and she can’t even recognise what is or isn’t her own body. 

“They looked real, I-,” Her shock disappears as quickly as it had come about, her mood shifting and a glare all of a sudden being directed at her ex boyfriend. “I wouldn’t have accused you if they didn’t look real, Nico.” She snaps, frowning at him like this is his fault. “You have no idea what it’s like to be threatened like that, I won’t have you blame me for panicking.”

Slivers of guilt seep into his subconscious, and he takes a deep breath, diverting his gaze uneasily and letting out a big sigh.

He knows he should be a little more compassionate, but there’s panicking, and then there’s this.

She had accused him of ruining her life.

“What about the rest of it?” Nico asks, “Like how did he get her number or have my address? You said he had other information?”

“He did,” Talia nods, looking over to Myles.

“The address he probably got when he got your number, and he could have got that from anywhere. Could be something as small as you ordering something online and the store having a data breach, or clicking a link that shared your IP address, and getting your phone information from that.” Myles starts his typing again, keeping a tight grip on his mouse so that it can’t be snatched again. “I could probably find out actually, they’re pretty easy to spot, do you clear your history often?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to do that,”

“Perfect,” Again, his fingertips work at lightening speed, and Nico watches as instagram opens on one of the screens. “Yeah, a DM sent to you from… Devils_tea. You opened a link to a shared drive to upload some pictures, the drive probably had malware and the pictures have location metadata.”

Nico rolls his eyes, that small ebb of pity washing almost completely away, and before Talia can stop him, Myles carries on. “Some of the pictures you sent them are the ones they used for the AI photos, look your face in this one is the exact same as this photo they threatened to leak.”

Nico recognises these photos. The ones that had been plastered all over social media when their relationship had leaked. Pictures of them back in Switzerland, on a weekend trip to Ibiza, selfies of them in his apartment, and even a picture of the two of them with his parents back at his family home in Valais.

He has been far too oblivious to Talia’s games for far too long, he realises. 

Of course she had been the one to leak everything - who else would have had those photos - but he hadn’t even considered it would be her; she had faced the harshest aftermath for it, why would she subject herself to all the subsequent grief that came with people knowing about their relationship?

Thank God for this guy’s lack of social cues, Nico thinks, or he would never have known that for as long as they had been together, she had been violating his revered privacy and trust.

“Nico, that wasn’t-,” Talia’s panic is evident, wide eyes, trembling hands raised in defence, “I must have been hacked,”

“Actually, there’s no-,” Myles begins to interject, fingers working again to fact check, but Nico doesn’t need him to validate what he already knows.

“Shut up,” Talia snarls, with a finger pointed at him, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re done here.” She reaches forward to snatch her phone back, yanking out the wire that connects it to his monitors and throwing it onto the desk. “We’re leaving, and if you think I’m paying you anything, you’re deluded.” 

Talia marches past them and straight out of the condo, slamming every door she possibly can behind her. Nico can only cringe as the sounds of her stomping footsteps echo until they fade out - until she’s probably outside and waiting for him back at his car.

“Doesn’t she want me to shut this thing down?”

“I’ll pay you.” Nico sighs, reaching into his pocket for his phone and trying to push down the feeling that arises when he’s met with a blank lock screen.

Poppy hasn’t messaged him. 

Not that he deserves for her to make it easy, to let him off the hook and pretend he hasn’t royally fucked things up with her.

“If you stop him, does he still have all the photos? He could still release them?”

“Yeah, but they’re pretty easy to validate as fakes, especially when you have the source material. I don’t think this guy is sophisticated enough for a full blown hack into her phone for the real thing. I couldn’t find evidence of any breach of her cloud or her device.”

Nico nods, but the information does little to quell the anxiety that squeezes his chest in a vice-like grip. 

This whole morning has been nothing but a giant waste of his time. From the second his eyes opened, to this moment right now, he’s made nothing but mistakes.

Not putting his phone on sleep mode before he and Poppy went to bed had been a mistake. Taking Talia’s call had been a mistake. Not waking Poppy up had been a mistake. Leaving without a note, without a text, leaving at all - it had all been one error after another, and all he has left to do is face up to the fact.

He can’t do anything to dwindle the panic rousing in every fibre of his being, the scarring marks left by torturous lashings of regret that whip at his skin.

He’s never felt so ashamed of himself, in such disbelief at his own decisions.

Why didn’t he just wake her?

She’s the most level-headed, acceptable person he knows. She would have understood. He hadn’t had a reasonable explanation at the time, and he doesn’t really have one now - but she would have accepted it, whatever he could have told her, she would have listened, waited until he could give her more.

He needs to see her, to explain, before it’s too late.

If he thinks about the feeling settling in his stomach, if he can compare it to anything, it’s like running from a blazing inferno of doubt and insecurity, licks of fire racing to catch up to him, the soles of his feet pressing into the sizzling ground - and Poppy is the cool embrace of safety.

She is light cracking through a window he just needs to break through to make it out.

If he can get to her quick enough, if he runs, and runs, maybe he’ll make it before he’s jiggling at a red hot handle that won’t move, won’t give, won’t budge.

If he can just talk to her, maybe the morning from hell will be outweighed by the days of resilience, weeks of efforts, years of loving her in whatever capacity, and the promise of something better.

He just needs to get rid of Talia.

The car journey back to his apartment is carried out in a deafening silence. She had tried to talk to him when he’d made his way out of Myles’ condo, when he had found her waiting by his Mercedes with crossed arms and a sour look on her face, but he’d told her he didn’t want to hear it, that they’d deal with it in private.

He hardly wanted a showdown with her in the middle of the street.

And so, she sat in his passenger seat, jaw set, glaring out the window and letting out the occasional huff or puff for attention that he wasn’t entertaining.

The elevator ride up to his place had been the same. Silent, filled with the type of tension you could cut with a knife, and all he could do was ignore her continued petulance and take deep breaths to calm himself down. In through his nose, out through his mouth, overlooking the way she tapped her foot in his peripheral vision, and almost audibly rolled her eyes every few seconds. 

“Would it have killed you to defend me in there?” She scoffs as soon as the door closes behind them in his apartment, “You just let him accuse me of all that stuff and completely invade my privacy!”

Nico screws his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He can’t blow up, can’t stoop to her level. He won’t feel good after the fact. He knows how Talia operates, should have known she’d immediately play the victim card, and he isn’t falling into the trap of arguing to the point of being in the wrong.

He’ll say something he regrets and she’ll use it to her advantage, somehow.

“You asked him to go through your phone, Talia.” He sighs, making his way over to the kitchen and getting himself some water. Chugging at it does little to soothe the burning feeling prickling at the back of his mouth, or the itch of his tongue to spit out a scathing retort. “He’s shut down the guy behind it, he can’t message you or anyone else with any more threats, you should be happy.”

“I should be happy?” She follows him wherever he tries to get away, crowding his space and jabbing a pointed finger into his arm. “You have no idea what I’ve been going through this past week. I thought my career was over! How was I supposed to know it was fake?”

“You didn’t even look at the pictures-,”

“Because I was panicking! I was upset, you can’t expect me to be able to recognise what’s been photoshopped when I’m scared like that!”

“But you can fly straight over here and pin the blame on me for ruining your life? You weren’t too upset to point the finger, Talia,”

“Don’t be an asshole, Nico, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“I’m being the asshole? You don’t even care about the trail of destruction you leave behind you, do you? You send private pictures of us, of me, of my family to random people online who you don’t even know, for what, Talia? For money?”

“I don’t need their money-,”

“So it was just for the attention? You get to parade our relationship around like it means nothing more to you than a title, and once you get your fifteen minutes and a few more instagram followers, you just jet back home and dump me over a text?”

“Oh my God,” she cries, flailing her arms dramatically, following him yet again as he makes his way into his living room, picking her stuff up after her that she had discarded here before they left and throwing it into her travel bag. “Stop playing the victim, for Christ’s sake, you’re hardly heartbroken over it. I know for a fact you’ve been hooking up with someone, one of the girls messaged me that they saw you leave a party with her on New Years!”

“So that’s what this is?” Nico snaps, pointing to her, to her stuff, “You think I’m moving on so you fly back out here and spring this bullshit on me, try to make me feel bad?”

“You have some nerve, Nico,” Talia scoffs, folding her arms across her chest and levelling him with a darkened glare.

“I have nerve? You’re the one who broke up with me out of nowhere and think that you can just march back here and make demands, Talia, blaming me for something that was entirely your own doing.” He’s getting sick of walking on egg shells around the topic. If she hadn’t have been messaging people she wasn’t supposed to, this would never have happened - it’s no one’s fault but her own, and as harsh as it may be, he wants to wash his hands of the whole thing. “Calling me in the middle of the night, telling me I ruined your life, saying I need to give you money?”

“Out of nowhere?” Of course she would only pick up on that, he thinks. “My God, you are so self-absorbed.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you think that dating you is easy?” She questions with a measured step toward him. “Do you think I want to spend my life waiting around for my boyfriend, only for him to only ever come home grumpy,” another step, “Or whiny,” and another, “Or too tired and achey to do anything? And that’s when you do come home at all and aren’t half way across the country with the communication skills of a candle. It’s a constant uphill battle trying to get even a second of your attention, Nico, so God forbid I tried to gain some kind of advantage from being with you.”

Her words are starting to cut, but he tries not to react, tries not to bite back. He can count several ways in which she gained an advantage being with him, just off the top of the head - a girl like Talia is never shy of attention. Her courting gossip blogs and sending them private information is probably just scraping the barrel of the ploys she made for exposure while she was with him.

“I didn’t break up with you out of nowhere, I put up with you and the whole circus that comes with you for months, but God, is it exhausting being with you.”

“You knew what you were getting into, Talia. You knew my job, knew my life.” They had met initially through mutual friends - hockey friends of his back home, even - and she has other friends who happen to be wives or girlfriends of athletes. She can’t say she came into the relationship completely oblivious to the downsides of dating a professional player.

“Not really,” she shrugs, “All the other guys can find some sort of balance, but not you. All the other girls get a proper boyfriend, someone who spends time doing what they want to do, who sticks up for them when their psycho fans start to turn on them, who doesn’t keep them hidden away like some dirty secret.”

“That isn’t fair, I can’t control that stuff, Talia, it’s not my fault.” He wants to point out that she was the one engaging in their gossip and riling them up, but he can’t keep harping on about something she refuses to acknowledge. He doesn’t have the time, patience or energy for it anymore.

The initial ‘leaking’ of their relationship had caused their first major fight. Fans online had somehow - although Nico can now hazard a guess as to how - found out about the two of them, had dug into Talia, her background, her family, her job, and had found some pretty toxic posts on her social media. They had been old posts, and she had told Nico that wasn’t the kind of person she was anymore - and he had no reason not to believe her, had never seen or heard her act in the ways she had online in what she called her misguided youth - but someone in the PR department at the Devils had cottoned onto the topic, and had warned Nico of speaking out in her defence when the pitchforks started to raise.

He’d told her he supported her, but he couldn’t do so publicly - not without upsetting people within the organisation he had worked so hard to gain the respect of - and she had told him she understood. They hadn’t been together that long, it would have been a little unreasonable for him to put her above his work in the ways she was expecting, but she clearly doesn’t see it that way, now.

“Maybe not, but if I’d have known that being with you meant having my life invaded, my career ruined, I never would have followed you back here, Nico.” She sounds more solemn now - regretful, even - and as deep as her words cut, she says it like a piece of advice, “I just hope whatever poor girl you’ve got tangled up in your mess this time knows what she’s getting herself into.”

“And what’s that?” His throat feels tight as he speaks all of a sudden, his resolve in defending himself fading, and he tries to gulp down whatever lump is forming there but the feeling doesn’t budge.

This is what she’s good at.

Turning the tables. Reducing him to uncertainty of himself, of his actions, of his memory of their time together.

“A one-sided relationship with a guy who will never be able to put her first.”

There’s a point in every game he has ever had the misfortune of losing, as the seconds count down in the final third, where he has to come to terms with the fact that there’s no possible way for him to win. It’s sort of comparable to the way his insides churn when he’s on a plane and it drops into descent, like his body is falling at a different speed to his surroundings, or the feeling he gets in his gut when he’s hiking, and he dares to take a peek over the edge of whatever mountainside he’s trekking up, where his body can predict the fall, and his mind has set on there being nothing he can do about it.

This feels like all those feelings.

“Whoever she is, and I know she exists, she doesn’t deserve that. It’s not fair.”

Nico’s heart pounds in his chest, echoing and thrumming in his ears until all he can hear is the beat reverberating, ricocheting around his skull.

He can put Poppy first.

So many parts of their lives are intertwined, it would be so easy to make it work. They work together, they live close, he speaks to her more than he speaks to anyone else in his circle. They’ve spent more time together as friends than he has with any other girlfriend he’s had.

He’s wanted her for years, of course he can do it.

Except, deep down, he knows he can’t. Being in a committed relationship with someone is an entirely different ball game to a friendship, no matter how close he and Poppy have been over the years.

He knows there’ll come a point soon into the season where he has to knuckle down and focus, can’t let anything or anyone distract him, and he’ll close himself off. It’s what he has always done. He gets in his head, starts to carry too much weight that he can’t shift until that final buzzer blows - and he can only hope that it happens with his team in the playoffs. Winning, thriving, succeeding. And for that to happen, he can’t prioritise anything other than the game he’s already dedicated his life to, his training, and most importantly, his team.

It isn’t about what he wants.

What have you done? He thinks, his chest aching.

Talia is right.

Poppy doesn’t deserve that.

She doesn’t deserve him only being there in the physical sense, if she even gets that at all. Doesn’t deserve him getting snappy and stressed, doesn’t deserve him not being able to give her time, or give her attention or affection like he wants to, or like she’s worthy of.

“I need to go.” He manages to choke out with a shake of his head, shouldering past her to pick up his jacket - needing to be out of this conversation and away from Talia. “Leave the keys, I don’t want you here when I get back.”

He needs to see Poppy.

He never should have left her - he wishes with everything in him that he had soaked up the time he had with her before everything came tumbling down around him. And somewhere deep within him, there is a fragile, wilting piece of hope that clings to the belief he can make things right. He just needs her to hone in on it. If anyone can reach into the deepest cracks of his insecurities, can show him he’s overthinking things and everything is not as hopeless as he has made it out to be, it will be Poppy.

Poppy

The first time Poppy had ever fallen asleep beside Nico was at a movie night in Jack’s old apartment he shared with Ty Smith. Jack had invited more people round than could reasonably fit in their living room, and so everyone was smushed in - each chair and every inch of floor space used to its full capacity. 

Nico had attempted to save Poppy a space, to give him credit. He had scowled at each of his teammates who tried to throw themselves down in the tiny slot beside him - prime space, corner of the comfiest couch, facing the tv directly, a small table to the side where one could keep their drinks and snacks - only, by the time Poppy got there, he had barely gotten away with man-spreading to make room, so the small section of the couch between Nico and the arm rest had become her designated spot.

It was cosy, to put it nicely. He had to swing his arm over the back so that she wasn’t being assaulted by the hard dig of his shoulder with every laugh, and her closest leg was pretty much on top of his for most of the film.

She’d known the guys for almost a year - had been working in media, attending every game, home and away, and had integrated herself into the group pretty closely - and she felt pretty comfortable around everyone.

It wasn’t the kind of dynamic she had anticipated falling into when she first got the job with the Devils. She was supposed to start getting serious about her life - cracking down on mingling with co-workers and throwing herself into new social circles, and focusing on building a career for herself, climbing through the ranks and attaining the kind of success and happiness she could shove in her family’s disapproving faces - but the guys had charmed her.

Jack had been somewhat relentless in his pursuit of Poppy’s friendship. He rarely took no for an answer when it came to inviting her out. He was new to New Jersey - a much younger player in a slightly older team - and his rookie season had been rough, so it came naturally to Poppy to want to provide comfort. She introduced him to some of her friends, showed him her favourite spots close to his apartment, found him a decent barber, picked up extra fruit whenever she went to the farmers market near her parent’s house and took it over to his and Ty’s place when she came back home so she could mother him into having his 5-a-day as if he didn’t have access to the best nutrition coaches in the country. Despite her best efforts, Jack had weaselled his way under her skin in the way only a brother could.

Nico’s charm was entirely different.

Nico’s charm came in the form of convenience at first - in the oh I live that way, I can drive you and I have some time, I can do some media stuff for you type of way. Convenience blended into companionship - I haven’t eaten either, we should go for lunch together and I’ve been wanting to watch that movie, do you want to watch it with me?

It turned into grabbing food together, even on days neither of them were working - breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, even coffee or sometimes drinks if they could meet up with the rest of the team. It turned into him spending time at her place, whether it was helping her paint her apartment, putting up her new wardrobes, or just binging whatever crazy long series Poppy had decided to start over from the beginning - she provided him with a sense of familiarity and calm he couldn’t really find in anyone else he had met in his time in the states. She became his person, his home away from home, away from home.

And he became hers. 

There wasn’t as much she had to escape; her job not as strenuous, the expectations of her not as high, but when things built up for her - when her mother became overbearing, or her latest endeavour into a relationship crashed and burned - Nico was there. He’d make sure she had a distraction, made sure she was looking after herself, and, in turn, would look after her as well. He made sure she got home safe on nights out, or when they returned from a roadie and landed late - he would always make sure to see her off into the comfort of her own home before he went back to his own. 

And that first time she’d fallen asleep beside him, he’d done the same.

He’d wrapped an arm around her to make her as comfortable as possible for as long as he could, and when the movie had finished - when her face was burrowed into the side of his chest, soft snores falling from between her lips - he gently drew her back to consciousness with his hand stroking at her cheek.

She’d been a little startled, hand shooting up to wipe at her chin and thankful she hadn’t been drooling on him - although with the easy smile he was giving her, she had thought he of all people wouldn’t have minded. 

“Movie’s done, do you need a ride home?” His voice had been low and soft as not to worsen her apparent disorientation, and his hand was still lingering by the side of her face.

She had nodded, blinking away her sleepiness, and working her way up from the couch and onto her feet, stretching out her muscles as Nico did the same.

The two of them bid their goodbyes to the rest of the guys, made their way together to Nico’s car, and he had driven her back to her apartment, chatting on the drive about work and training. 

Poppy had been cramming to prepare for her interview for the Foundation at the time - had been getting herself seriously worked up, staying up late, getting up early, barely allowing herself any time for anything fun - and Nico had seen right through her. 

He’d stopped her before she got out of the car, had held her hand, rubbing at her knuckles with his thumb, and had told her that she should get some proper rest, and that she was going to absolutely rock their world in her interview in a few days time. And, knowing she was going to ignore any instruction he gave to make herself some decent dinner and go to bed early, had ordered her favourite Japanese takeout to be delivered a good half an hour after she got inside, with a text that followed telling her to sleep straight after she had finished.

She’d never expected to drift asleep with him on Jack’s couch - had never expected to open her eyes to the sight of his looking so warmly back at her.

And she hadn’t expected the same thing this morning, because, as her eyes drifted open to the intrusive light peaking through the cracks in her curtains, it wasn’t the first time she had woken up.

The first time had been to subdued movements, a slight groan of her bed frame, and the soft pattering of footsteps leading away. It had been to a hushed voice, the creak of her bathroom door, the flush of a toilet and the uttering of a name she had hoped she would never have to worry about again.

Talia.

The rest of his words had been uttered in his own language, but that she could understand.

She had acted purely on fight or flight instinct, laying back and pretending she was asleep - although as soon as she did, she regretted it, her mind racing at the million and one other possibilities she could have gone with. Sitting up, waiting for him to come out and asking him what was going on being the most rational.

But when had she ever gone with the most rational thought?

She tried not to react as she felt his presence, felt the soft press of his lips to her skin, or the placement of her bunny in her arms. Tried not to follow him as soon as he departed her bedroom, beg him to come back and whatever was going on could wait until the proper turn of the morning. Tried not to get up and go after him when the click of the lock to her main door echoed throughout the empty apartment.

And she tried not to cry as she laid in bed, overthinking herself back to sleep, thoughts racing to the point of exhaustion, and hoping when she woke up again it had just been a god-awful dream.

But it hadn’t.

The spot beside her in bed is empty, not even a crease in the pillow to prove he was ever there - only the t-shirt of his she still adorned, the one that when she takes a deep inhale, still smells like him, and the distinct aching between her thighs.

She finds more evidence of their night together in the bathroom, where she undresses herself with sore muscles and glances in the mirror to see the spattering of purple marks forming on her chest and neck. Her fingers trace over them lightly, her fleeting touch bringing vivid images forth of his lips pressing to her skin, practically able to feel the pressure of her flesh being nipped and bitten again.

He had been so attentive to her - so in tune with what she needed and wanted, and so ready to give her whatever that may be. He’d been gentle at some points, and purposeful at others, and every little thing he did, he did it with sweet disposition.

The kind of man who treats a girl like that doesn’t just leave her in the dead of night with no good reason, right?

Her mind races despite her body going into auto-pilot throughout her morning routine. Her shower is over in the flash of an eye, she strips her bed, starts her laundry, makes herself some tea and gets herself dressed - all the while weighing out all the possibilities of what could have taken him away from her, and what she would be able to understand. 

That quickly turns to her imagining the worst, and a tight, constricting feeling starts to consume her chest. 

There isn’t a single part of her apartment she can get away from the thoughts buzzing around her brain - her kitchen marred with the memory of what had happened on the counter, her couch, her bedroom, her bathroom - all carrying distinct memories of Nico that she needs to bench until she knows the truth.

She mistakenly thinks her escape might lie in her phone. There might be a text there waiting, explaining everything and relieving all the anxiety that has welled up in her very core.

Nia’s warnings from the night before don’t ring quick enough in her mind as the screen comes to life, the immediate barrage of notifications flooding in.

2 missed calls from Mom

Mom: Just calling to remind you of proper table etiquette in case it has slipped your mind, I won’t have you embarrass me in front of a Lyon.

Mom: Cutlery going from the outside in, hold your wine glass by the stem and dab with your napkin, don’t swipe!

Mom: Also let the man tuck your chair in and pay the bill, this 21st century woman nonsense is very unbecoming!

Mom: And I don’t want to have to bring this up but for the love of God, Poppy, have some class. I don’t want to hear mutterings of your promiscuity at the next luncheon.

Whoever taught her mom to text deserves a prison sentence, she thinks.

Tucker Lyon standing a girl up and ghosting her attempts to contact him is what’s unbecoming, not her trying to pay her half of the meal.

She can picture her mother as she reads the texts, sipping on her Manhattan on the couch in the great room, her dad already having retreated to bed at that time, and her having nothing better to do than sit and stew on her daughter’s sex life.

If she knew what was really going down last night, her mom would probably have a conniption.

Knowing she’ll no doubt be getting a call later that evening, Poppy swipes away at her text thread with her mom, immediately checking the notifications she hasn’t long received from her best friend.

Nia: hey if you happen to release yourself from Nico’s wandering hands at all today me and Kelsey are grabbing breakfast by my work!!

Nia: if you need refuelling we’ll be at Marco’s at 9 😘 

Perfect. Therein lies her escape. Breakfast with her best friends, where they can hopefully talk her down from the ledge she’s precariously placed herself on.

A catch up with her girls, and then she can distract herself with work.

Poppy: I’ll be there!!

“Hasn’t he text you or anything?” Nia asks, covering her mouth as she chews on her breakfast bagel, the three girls sat around a table inside their favourite cafe close to Nia’s office.

When Poppy and Nia had first moved in together, they rented an apartment in Hoboken, not too far, and their tradition of grabbing breakfast at Marco’s carried on despite Poppy living further down the river and working even further away in Newark. 

Kelsey had lived in Manhattan at that time, but she stayed over so often with the other girls that she practically spent majority of her week there, and so Poppy and Nia’s routine became hers.

Poppy had given the two of them a brief rundown of her night with Nico, a safe-for-work version of events, all leading up to the mysterious early morning phone call and swift departure.

“Nope,” she sighs, swiping to refresh her messages as if she hasn’t put her phone on loud just to be alerted when he does reach out.

“Have you text him?”

“Nope,” she repeats, putting the phone down and leaning back in her chair, running a hand through her already messed up hair. She’s going to have to throw it up if she wants to look any sort of presentable when she gets to work later.

“Is he usually this pathetic at communicating?” Kelsey asks, manicured nails swiping at a bunch of Sweet’n Lows like she’s trying to play Tetris with the packets. 

Kelsey hasn’t met Nico before, not that Poppy can remember.

Despite considering her one of her closest friends, their personal lives have never quite intertwined like that - not like hers and Nia’s.

In college, things were different. They were coming into their own together, figuring out just what they wanted their personal lives to be, and so Kelsey, Poppy and Nia would all share pretty much everything, just to have someone there to validate their feelings.

But that changed once they graduated.

Kelsey moved in with her boyfriend, Liam - who just so happens to be Poppy’s idea of hell-spawn.

The kind of guy her mother would probably love.

Liam worked on Wall Street, couldn’t go five minutes of conversation without talking about stocks or investment funds. His native language was risky money moves and belittling remarks, and he treated Kelsey like an accessory to parade around in public and discard in private.

Poppy had tried a few times to open Kelsey’s eyes to the way that it was, but it soon became apparent that she had to let her friend make her own mistakes, and some parts of their lives didn’t have to cross over.

They broke up around Thanksgiving, and Poppy had tried with all her might not to show her relief, but it has made her somewhat resentful when it comes to other relationships - like no one can be happy if she isn’t.

She knows it isn’t malicious, but she restrains from letting Kelsey all the way in, all the same.

“Not really,” Poppy lies, not wanting to clue her in on the Big Freezewhere he didn’t speak to her for months on end. It doesn’t entirely help her case. “I just don’t get why he’d sneak out to see her of all people, he told me they weren’t ever that solid, that he wasn’t happy with her.”

“Ooh, what if she’s pregnant?” Kelsey is entirely oblivious to the horrific realm of possibility she has just opened Poppy up to, evidenced by the casual chuckle and subsequent sip of her coffee. “Maybe she’s back to baby-trap him.”

Poppy thinks she would have to flee the state.

Nico is a family guy - if Talia is pregnant, he’d force himself to love her again, if he ever even stopped, for the sake of their gorgeous brown eyed, floppy haired baby, and push Poppy to the side just like he had before. And she’ll have to watch him from the sidelines, yearning for what she had just managed to touch the tips of her fingers to before it was violently yanked from her grasp. 

Maybe she’d have to flee the country even - move somewhere remote where she doesn’t even have the chance of being reminded of hockey, let alone of him.

Somewhere with no coffee shops that she’d enter, and the smell of fresh pastries would remind her of all the breakfasts they had together. No railways, where she’d be reminded of his love for model trains every time she came across the tracks. No weird club music that he loves so much, or dorky wizard franchises he chastises her for never having seen.

Maybe Antarctica. They only have penguins there. No real civilisation that she knows of. No brown haired, dark eyed Swiss Gods with deep, honeyed voices that make her knees weak and dimpled smiles that do even worse.

She wouldn’t be able to cope with losing him like that, living her life in an endless mental cycle of what ifs and maybes.

“Kelsey, I beg of you to read the room,” Nia chastises, swatting the girl on her arm before taking Poppy’s hand in her own. “Don’t listen to her, she just wants us all to be single at the same time.”

“Sue me for wanting to have fun! It would be just like college, you and me full-body plunging into the dating pool. Imagine the chaos, Pop, you don’t wanna be tied down to a guy hung up on his ex right now.”

“Dating pool?” Nia scoffs, turning to glare at her, “You’re hardly dry from your last relationship.”

“I’d rather be a grape than a raisin, Ni.” Kelsey chides back, and Poppy can’t help the twitch of her lips at the horrific comparison. 

“You’re really gonna listen to a girl who says that?” Nia asks, unable to mask the glint of humour in her eyes, and Kelsey bites back a smile, too.

Despite the ache in her chest at the thought of any of it - of Nico leaving her this morning, filling her up with empty words and false promises, potentially knocking up an ex girlfriend he is still secretly hung up on even though he told her otherwise - she manages to crack a full smile.

“You are terrible at analogies, Kels,” Poppy tries to hide the grin behind her cup, sipping at her tea and letting the warmth of it soothe the pain in her throat. 

“I’m trying to encourage you to be a strong, independent woman here!”

“She is a strong, independent woman,” Nia defends, “She also happens to be a chronic over-thinker with a deep seated fear of confrontation.”

“I don’t fear confrontation.”

“Then why are we here chit-chatting about hypothetical scenarios when you could just text him and ask what��s up?”

“Maybe ‘cause that’s scary?” Poppy scoffs, only half joking. “What am I supposed to say, hey I just so happened to eavesdrop on your private conversation before you fled my apartment this morning, and despite me not understanding most of it, I definitely heard you mention someone, so could you just let me know if your gorgeous model ex girlfriend is pregnant with your perfect specimen baby?”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, you don’t even need us.”

Poppy rolls her eyes.  

She could text him. Could be casual about it, a good morning or even an are you okay? Those don’t warrant the alarm bells she’s afraid of raising - the ones that blare out with the siren sound of run, this girl is unhealthily attached to you already!

But she doesn’t want to be the pathetic girl chasing after the guy sending her clear messages that he doesn’t want her.

It’s easier said than done not to overthink the whole thing - not to second guess everything he had said, or everything she had done last night.

She feels like she had rushed things. It was so impulsive, so charged, and after spending the majority of her week away from him, she just hadn’t been able to help herself. And that makes her feel like a hypocrite. She had told him that night he had first kissed her that things between them had gotten intense. It had been the whole reason for spending a few days outside of each other’s company, and in the first possible instance, she had thrown herself at him.

It was desperate.

And maybe that scared him.

It sure as hell scares her.

“I don’t know what to do,” She groans, throwing her head into her hands and scrunching her eyes shut to try and drown out the endless doubt. 

She feels two hands rub at either sides of her back, “Listen, Pop,” Nia is the first to attempt to console her, as always, and Poppy holds her breath for the harsh reality check she’s about to throw her way. “You know I am the one person who would usually be trying to convince you to cut your losses and run when it comes to guys who are no good, but this is Nico. I’ve watched the two of you ignore your feelings for far too long to let you get in your own way, now.

“And you’re forgetting I saw him last night, before you got there, there isn’t a chance in Hell he would have left you like that without a good reason. I don’t for a second think he’s still hung up on her.” Nia casts a side eye to Kelsey.

The only problem is that Poppy isn’t sure there’s a reason good enough. Not when it comes to Talia. Not when the memory of those months of radio silence is still so fresh for her.

“I have to go to work in a building where his face is plastered everywhere, Ni, I can hardly forget his entire existence until he deems me worthy of an explanation. Who leaves after a night like that without even a note or a text?”

“An idiot,” Kelsey mutters around her drink, rolling her eyes when Nia sends her another death-glare.

“I’m not asking you to forget, I’m telling you to wait.” Nia frowns, but her tone remains consoling and warm. “You need to stop letting what this thinks,” she flicks at Poppy’s forehead, “Get in the way of what this knows.” She points to her chest on the left side. “You know him. You know how much he likes you.”

She does.

She knows Nico, she trusts him.

She can only judge him based on his actions so far - the ones that tell her that he cares. He leads with his heart, it’s his most attractive attribute. He’s gentle and loving and she needs to focus on those things over anything else.

“Ugh, corny,” Kelsey drags, and despite her repeated efforts to discourage her, Poppy knows she isn’t being entirely serious. “If he has any non-stupid hot athlete friends though, I’m first in line when the two of you kiss and make up for double dates.”

Guilt pricks slightly at Poppy’s chest - for making her recently single friend sit here and listen to her complain about something so monumentally small compared to the breakdown of the long-term relationship Kelsey had just endured. Even if it was perceivably toxic.

“You’d make such a good WAG, Kels.”

It’s a poor attempt to make up for it, but it seems to console her friend all the same, a giant grin breaking out and flashing her perfect pearly whites.

“I know.”

Poppy tries to distract herself with work. Tries to make her way through her inbox of seemingly never ending emails and her list of ever-growing tasks. She types up lengthy responses, puts together a presentation, makes a bunch of phone calls she’s been putting off for God knows how long, sorts all her invoices out - she even sends a fax. In the year 2024. It’s her most productive work day she thinks she’s ever had.

She zeroes in on the ground every time she moves through the building. Ignores the pictures that line the walls of the Rock, pushes down the memories of all the times she’s walked these very halls by Nico’s side, and she thinks she’s done just about enough to clear her mind for the time being.

She hasn’t thought up some heart wrenching scenario in at least an hour by the time she’s wrapping up for the day.

She’s making her way back to her office after dropping some files off for Elaine when she catches sight of a mop of curls over the top of the chair by her desk.

Luke is sat in her chair when she enters, swivelling around and staring at the ceiling.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick doing that, you know.”

“You’re such a mom,” he scoffs, standing up and clearly trying not to sway, “You ever tried having fun? I think I saw a glue stick on a table out there,” he points through the door into the wider office space, where there are a few, less private cubicles and a common area. “We should go sniff them, let loose a little.”

“Is that why you’re here on your day off? To huff glue?”

“Yeah, I don’t get to let loose enough. Being a rookie in the NHL is hard, Poppy,”

“Bummer for you.” She pouts, mockingly, swerving past him as he rounds her desk and sits on the other side, flicking at the bobblehead version of his older brother that stands by her computer. “If you’re chasing a high can you do it with one of the other departments, it’s not a good look for the Youth Foundation.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

When Luke had first joined the Devils, she hadn’t expected that she would warm to him the way she has - but, surprisingly enough, considering the fact they’re brothers, their relationship recently has started to mirror her and Jack’s.

Luke is funny. He’s sarcastic and a little silly, and it can be nice to have him around when work gets a little stressful. He doesn’t let the pressures of his own career outweigh those of hers, and, despite the gap in age, she actually enjoys his company.

But he never seeks her out like this.

Their interactions have always started through other people. Group conversations that dwindle to just the two of them, or he usually accompanies Jack to bug her and carries on when Jack’s ever-so-busy schedule takes him elsewhere.

She can’t think of another time he’s just shown up in her office alone.

Especially on his incredibly rare day off.

“Why are you actually here?” She asks, casting a suspicious but half-playful glare his way as she starts to pack up her things. 

“Came to see if you wanted to join us for dinner.”

“Aw Lukey,” she reaches over her desk to pinch his cheek, “I’m flattered and all but I’m a little too old for you.”

“Ha ha,” he swats her hand away, “Us. Me and Jack. Maybe a couple of the others if they’re free but you can pick where we go if you make a decision quickly, we were thinking a steakhouse.”

She narrows her eyes at him, expecting him to crack a joke about her being old, but he just looks back at her awaiting a response. “Why?” She drags out the question, her movements stopping completely.

“Maybe ‘cause humans need sustenance to live? What do you mean, why?”

“Why would you want me to tag along on your bro date?”

“Don’t call it a bro date,” Luke cringes, “Just remembered you were working today and we were in the area, don’t know why you’re being weird about it.”

“You’re being weird. You guys never let me choose where we eat. Don’t you remember that time we grabbed dinner when you guys drove me home and Jack told me to stop being a pussy about my seafood allergy ‘cause he wanted sushi.”

“Don’t blame me for the crimes of my brother, Poppy, he was obviously joking.”

“I had to eat tofu, Luke, I don’t find that very funny.”

“Are you coming or not?”

“That depends, how do you have your steak?”

“Well done.”

“Oh! Then absolutely not.”

“Remind me never to try to be nice to you again.” He scowls as they make their way out of her office, and she locks up behind the two of them.

“Gladly, it’s creeping me out.” She grabs at his elbow before he can carry on, stopping him in the otherwise empty common area where she knows no one is around to listen in. “Is something going on, seriously?”

Luke rolls his eyes, but she knows him well enough that it’s only done in an attempt to avert from her gaze. 

Bingo. He’s hiding something.

“I just thought you might want some company.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets and twisting his lips to keep from saying much more.

“Why?”

If Poppy wanted to spend her life getting a straight answer out of people for a living, she’d have become an interrogator. What is it with these guys and their inability to answer a simple question?

“Jack said you left the party last night with Nico.”

Poppy’s eyebrows scrunch so close together that she can feel a deep crease form between them. What on earth does that have to do with asking her to dinner? Or being overly nice to her?

Unless-

“You’ve seen him?”

“This morning.”

“Oh.”

All of her efforts from throughout the day seem to have been for nothing - an immediate rush of insecurities flooding her mind.

Where did he see him? What did he say? Was he okay? Was Talia there?

She feels like she can gauge an answer from the way Luke looks. Sheepish, almost, like he doesn’t want to say something he knows will hurt her feelings.

She had to have been with him. He wouldn’t just show up to her office like this if it wasn’t something that would seriously hurt.

She wishes she wasn’t the kind of person who did this - who filled in the gaps of conversations and always came out with the worst possible outcomes - but she can’t help it. She’s been doing it all her life, and there’s rarely ever an instance where her instincts have led her astray.

She knows it’s some weird part of her mind protecting her, but she needs to do something here. Nia’s words from earlier ring like a warning. Don’t let what her brain thinks get in the way of what her heart knows.

Her heart knows Nico wanted her. Knows Nico liked her. Knows Nico wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

She needs to figure things out for herself and stop running, stop letting her mind fill in the gaps of a situation it can’t even comprehend to begin with.

She reaches her arms around Luke’s shoulders, stretching up on her tip toes to pull him into a hug before rubbing her knuckles into his curls, affectionately.

Luke Hughes is sarcastic and silly, and he cares enough about her to not want her to be alone if she’s going through something.

“Thank you for the offer, Luke, but I’ll be alright.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods, a tender smile tugging at the corners of her stubborn lips. It takes over her face, eyes glinting fondly and cheeks warming. 

“Yeah, you can walk me to my car if you’re that worried about me though.” She loops her arm through his elbow as they make their way to the parking lot, and when they get there, he makes sure she’s in her car and has set off before him and Jack leave.

As if her day can’t get any worse, the elevator in her building is cordoned off with tape and a sign when she gets home, and she has never regretted moving up a floor as much as she does when she’s trudging up 6 flights of stairs.

She’s exhausted. Emotionally and physically, and she just wants to throw herself into bed and pretend the last 24 hours were a terrible dream.

Only, as she rounds the final corner to get to her door, any hopes of that go straight down the pan when her eyes land on Nico, standing in front of her door with his hands buried in his jacket pocket.

He looks tired too - hair messed where he’s no doubt been taking his cap on and off for however long he’s been stood here, running a hand through the tresses until they’re all askew. 

His shoulders are slumped, and he doesn’t even greet her with that pretty smile he usually gives her.

His lips do curve up a touch - limp and half-hearted, not even enough for a dimple to form - but it doesn’t provide the comfort she had thought it would.

She feels anxious. A culmination of the day’s emotions washing over in one go. Sad, regretful, nervous, disappointed - all things she shouldn’t be used to feeling when it comes to Nico, but are all too familiar when she takes the last few months into account.

“Hi.” She gives a weak smile of her own.

“Can we talk?”

She wishes he’d have just said hi, back. That might have relieved the tightness in her chest just a little.

Nothing good ever comes of can we talk?

He steps aside as she approaches, maintaining a safe distance as she opens the door and enters her apartment.

The Nico from yesterday might have brushed past her, the graze of an arm or a lingering hand, but this Nico doesn’t. He barely even meets her eye.

He closes the door behind himself, watching as she discards her bag and keys to the console table on the side, and while she’s turned away from him, she tries to let whatever emotions need to come out cross her features where he can’t see them.

She needs to be cool about this, she thinks.

If she doesn’t get her back up, doesn’t get agitated, she won’t scare him off.

“Are you okay?” She asks once she’s turned to face him, not liking how he stands unmoving by the door. He hasn’t made any effort to settle in - his jacket still on and his hands still hidden in the pockets.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

She realises now that she can get a good look at him that the expression he wears is one of shame. Guilt. Apprehension. She needs to be careful and toe the line before he gets consumed by it, she realises.

She steps toward him a little, and he doesn’t back up - not immediately, not obviously - but he hardly welcomes her approach, either.

She doesn’t like feeling this way when it comes to talking to him - feeling uneasy and unsure, but there’s a part of her that’s tired of having to prompt him for answers.

He had been the one to leave this morning. Why can’t he just come out and tell her why?

“I’m alright,” she shrugs, not wanting to scare him off with the truth. “Super tired, though, can we sit?”

She wonders if he thinks about the same things she does as they make their way to the couch. Wonders if he can feel the scratch of her nails on his torso, or the brush of her lips against his, as they sit in the spot where not even 24 hours ago, their bodies had been intertwined.

He doesn’t sit right beside her as he normally would, and she finds herself missing the way his thigh usually brushes against her own.

She doesn’t know where to start or what to ask, and so she basks in the silence for a little - finding comfort in the fact that, despite the mess they’re currently in, they aren’t quite at the end yet.

But a part of her feels it coming.

She’d known it this morning if she lets herself listen to the rational voice in her head. As soon as she’d heard him say her name, as soon as he’d left, a part of her knew that was it, and maybe if she’d let herself believe it at the time - hadn’t talked herself down and convinced herself she was being irrational - she could have protected herself from all the ways this is going to hurt.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and when she looks up, he’s looking down where his large hands are now clasped together in his lap.

“For what?” She manages to choke out.

“Last night, I,” she digs her nails into the palms of her own hands to stop herself filling in the gaps as he figures out what he wants to say, but it’s no use.

He’s sorry for last night.

Last night, he made a mistake.

Last night, he was drunk, he was confused, he was just looking for something or someone to keep him occupied.

“I care about you so much, Poppy.”

That sentence shouldn’t be the one that fills her with dread, but it is.

“You’re my best friend, and I love you,” he does look up as he says this, eye meeting hers in an attempt to convey his honesty, but she sees more of the truth in his glassy gaze than she hears in his words. “This morning, I panicked, and I just needed some time to figure out what I want.”

No, no, no.

She’d rather he tell her what actually happened than do this. Than pretend he left because he doesn’t want her.

“I love you-,”

“You said that, already.” She can’t help the bite in her tone as she prepares herself for the hit. The I love you, but.

“You’re so important to me. Being your friend, it’s like it’s what keeps me sane lately.”

She chews at the inside of her cheek as she feels the tears start to well at her lash line.

“Poppy, I don’t want to mess up what we have,” he shakes his head as his gaze drops, dark eyes darting to focus anywhere but on her own, pleading and watery as she watches him slip away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You don’t think this is hurting me?” She feels weak as her voice breaks, “You don’t think this is already messy?”

She reaches out to take his hands in hers, digging in to unclasp them, to try thread her fingers through, but he doesn’t make it easy.

“Nico, I love you, too, you know I do, we can figure it out, you don’t have to run away from me.”

It’s a desperate attempt and she knows it is, but she needs to know she tried. When she’s sobbing into her pillow and crying herself to sleep tonight, she needs to know she didn’t just let him go without a fight.

“I can’t give you what you want, I can’t be in a relationship, I’m no good at it.” 

Regardless of what she had told herself earlier, about taking what he says at face value, and trying not to fill in the gaps like she does so often with everyone else, she can’t help herself. When he says, I can’t be in a relationship, he means with her. He can’t be with Poppy. He would be no good with Poppy.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I told you-,”

“No, you said before that you’ve wanted this for as long as you’ve known me, you don’t just wake up and change your mind, not after-,” Poppy starts to feel panic building within her like a flipped over sand timer. Rising and rising until she starts to feel nauseous, getting harder with each second not to jump to conclusions. 

The voice inside her that tells her he got what he wanted and decided it wasn’t for him sounds caustic and bitter, and if she hadn’t wound herself up so much about this whole situation over the course of the day - the past week, even, or the months before - she might have been able to fight off the way it so easily convinces her.

“I have to put the team first, it doesn’t matter what I want, I have to focus on them, on hockey.”

She’s too caught up in her own emotions to notice how weak he sounds - glassy eyes unable to catch the glint in his. All she can hear, all she can see, is the minute hints of a cover-up - that she isn’t getting the whole story, that he’s lying to her, and that the excuse he’s giving is cowardly.

He still hasn’t mentioned the call, hasn’t mentioned Talia, hasn’t explained why he left her, why he didn’t say anything, why he didn’t come back.

“And you didn’t know that before?” She scoffs, pushing herself up off the couch and stepping away from him, “I can’t believe you would do this to me.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks as soon as they fall, but she can’t rid her skin of the feeling that they were there, her flesh damp and sore.

“I know we took things a little too far last night, but that doesn’t mean-,” She almost thinks he notices how bad that hurts her, referencing the night they shared as a mistake - an instance where they got carried away, and not where they followed through on years worth of built up tension and adoration for one another. She doesn’t even have to fill in the gaps, this time. Took things a little too far is clear enough. “We can still be friends. I want to be friends.”

“Friends?” Poppy jeers in disbelief, turning completely away from him now and missing the tears that drop from his own cheeks - missing the way his chest cracks and stretches open in a last ditch demonstration of his vulnerability, his desperation not to lose her completely. “You should go.”

“Poppy,”

“I can’t,” she tries so hard not to cry, knowing she won’t be able to stop, but the words come out in a choked sob, and her voice carries on in the whiney way she always hates. “You told me you wanted more, you said I was yours, and I’m supposed to just act like it never happened? Just accept you didn’t actually mean the things you said?”

“I meant them,” he says, defiantly, so sure of himself that it makes her head spin. “I wouldn’t-,”

“No, you didn’t. You’re a liar. You were either lying then, or you’re lying now. I don’t know which is worse. I can’t be your friend. I can’t pretend like you can that I don’t feel the way I feel.”

“Please, Mohn,” His fingertips just manage to reach out to land on her forearm before she shucks him off, wincing as if his touch has pained her.

“Don’t.” She takes an immediate step back, arms crossing over herself as a defence mechanism, body language screaming at him to go away, and she watches his pleading eyes drop to her arms just as she feels the cold of the metal there - so in tune with her every thought despite his denial of their true connection. Her arms move before her mind can make the decision, before it can remember what even sits on her skin, and her shaking fingers fumble to unclasp the jewellery adorned on her wrist. “You should take this back.”

Nico shakes his head, stepping back and away from the outstretched hand that holds her gemstone bracelet like it’s an actual danger to him. “No, that’s yours, Poppy.”

“I don’t want it.” She knows she’s the one that’s lying now. She wants the bracelet. She wants him. She doesn’t want him to leave. She wants to be his friend over being nothing. 

But she doesn’t want to hurt.

Looking at him hurts.

Remembering last night, remembering their kiss, the things he has said, the things he has done, it all hurts, and she can’t keep hold of a constant reminder of the pain, can’t wear it on her person at all hours of the day just to know deep down that the man who gave it to her will never want her the same way.

“I want you to leave.”

“Please,” he begs again, head tilting as devastation floods his features, brows pushing together, tears welling at the corners of his eyes, “We need to talk about this-,”

“No, you were right, we went too far, it was a mistake.” Her voice breaks as she says things she knows she doesn’t mean, but he’s already put it out there, so she doesn’t see the harm in echoing his own opinions. “There’s nothing more to talk about.”

She can’t look at him anymore, and so she drops her gaze to his hands, stepping and reaching forward and forcing him to take the bracelet from her before she rounds the couch and heads to the door.

If he isn’t going to give her the whole truth, she isn’t going to entertain part of the story, and she needs him gone so she can give in to the way her body wants to fold in on itself.

It takes him a minute to gather himself, but she refuses to look his way, waiting by the open door to her apartment and staring at the floor in front of her until his shoes appear.

“I do love you, Poppy. I’m leaving because I don’t want to upset you any more than I already have, and I’ll give you space if that’s what you need, but I’ll be here when you want to talk about this. I mean it when I say I can’t lose you.”

 She doesn’t say anything. She can’t say anything.

There’s a stabbing pain that’s building and building in the centre of her chest, and she doesn’t even think she can breathe in his presence.

He clasps a hand around her upper arm, and leans into her, his lips pressing a firm kiss into the crown of her head, and he lingers there for a moment before he retreats. 

She manages to push the door closed behind him, the click of the lock louder than ever, and waits a good few minutes in silence before her body is wracked with a silent sob.

The one time she had tried to be brave and fight her own intuition, and this is where it gets her.

So much for Nico wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

[madstronaut]

tis christmas in july aka the season for feasting year-round 

much like the 3-in-1 monstrosity of shampoo/condish/bodywash that the COD men probably use (not gaz, though he would n e v e r) I am tossing in my ramblimmentaries three of cin’s lovely fics together here 🥰

aaanyway not even ashamed to say I’ve been re-reading their holiday keegan fic SEVERAL TIMES a month since I first saw it last december cos it’s so cute and fluffy

ok I need to get this out of the way laughing my ass off rn because autocorrect changed cumikering to cucumber several times throughout here and i was howling when I went to edit this and I was like why are there cucumbers everywhere??? LMAO

Reading: Neighbour Keegan Russ x reader by @cumikering

ah meet cute at the laundry room; I love it alr (as you can see i am easily pleased/amused/moved)

also it’s already on sight with reader’s cuz, i have unfortunately met ppl like this IRL (haven’t we all) and well talk about telling on themselves about how unhappy they are :/

“Well, if you need company…” he said, trying to not sound too hopeful. I’d love to spend some time with you. You turned to him, brow raised. “Wait, you mean, you want to come with? Be my plus one?” “That wasn’t- well, yeah. I can do that.” He shrugged. “If you want.” This wasn’t the direction he was heading for. He was going to offer to spend Christmas together, maybe exchange gifts, but he surely wasn’t going to take that back. Anything for a chance with you.

AAAA OBSESSED WITH HOW CUTE AND AWKWARD THIS WHOLE EXCHANGE IS

He always enjoyed seeing your face brighten like that, despite never getting the chance to see it enough…But between deployments, he was lucky to even catch a glimpse of you once a week, leaving any possible advances towards you simply a fantasy to him. He was out of practice, but was he that out of practice that he came on too strong and scared you? He certainly didn’t mean to make it suggestive. This was going to end before it even started. He grimaced to himself.

we love some good ole mutual pining🥺🥰🥺🥰🥺🥰

That time you saw Keegan on a run shirtless out your window you had to sit down.

HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA crying laughing at this…also reminded me of a time I hung out with a friend in LA who went to pick up a friend after he ran a marathon and drop him off before we went to dinner - didn’t realize the runner was an old acquaintance I hadn’t seen in a while since he was a senior when I was a freshman in college but I fucking remembered him alright when he came running up ripped af, shirtless, sweaty, saw me and went “MADSTRONAAUUTTTT OMG” and picked me up and spun me while in his giant hulking sweaty arms and I briefly bluescreened…anyway cough sorry back to keegan what was I saying, yes shirtless sweaty keegan yes yes 

He didn’t speak much (you wished he did though because his voice was divine)

my fellow voicekink brian bloom fans where you at

ah wooing by fake dating, is there a better trope (tbh the ones I’ve read are hit or miss but this one is 10/10)

Keegan sat on his bed as you went through his wardrobe. How cheesy would it be if he were to pull out his guitar and serenade you? He, too, was told the ladies liked men who played the guitar. Why do you think he picked it up in high school?

*thousand eyed stare thinking of how many times I've heard wonderwall as a millenial*

He’d made it his mission to make sure taking him to your family was worth your while.

ah yes a true soldier through and throughhhhh~

You were a steady stream of glee that didn’t drain him and he couldn’t get enough.

AAWWWWWWW fucking loved this line!!!!!!!

also the cousin’s name as Bella now has me picturing her as twilight kristen stewart

It only made it hard to dilute your hopefulness that this meant the slightest bit more than nothing.

“dilute your hopefulness” GAAHHH LOVE THIS PHRASE CIN MWAH MWAH

now how to put this lightly but everything about bella just filled me with pure rage lol first off I WOULD ALSO KILL FOR A DYSON AIR WRAP GIFTED TO ME (can I buy one? yes. can I justify buying one? hell no) and I hate to use this term but textbook definition of a ‘pick-me girl’ right here but seeing casual cruelty like this would make me hear those kill bill sirens and have me swabbing some vaseline on my face and taking my earrings off and spitting some razorblades out my mouth and- cough anyway that’s from my younger fanciful days, I don’t carry razorblades in my mouth this isn’t late 90s/early 2000s new york ha cough anyway moving on smh throwing my hands at bella up in air

but I loved the contrast with keegan and let me just say everything about bella’s ‘gift’ goes against the pure nature of giftgiving and I am thrilled that she left the card there but got to take Keegan home 🥰

this whole fic reminded me of a lovely quote I read on a tear-off daily calendar lol

“The wise one knows. The giver of the gift IS the gift. And the gift is just the giver’s heart in the shape of something to make you smile.  The gift decays. The giver stays. And so the real gift remains.”

I will make an exception for celebrating Christmas in July for any of cin's holiday fics 🥰🥰🥰

-----------------------------------------

aaaaand also reading: by Ghost x plus-sized reader by cinny

omfg fucking tearing up my pillows to shreds at how much I love this lil fic!!!

You scoffed, looking past him at the other ladies in the room. “Are you serious? There are plenty who weigh far less.” His brow rose. “Are you calling me weak?”

fucking love reading about a suave smooth-ass ghost

His eyes softened a touch. “May I? Please?”

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 WHO CAN RESIST PUPPY EYED GHOST??? TELL ME WHO

 Across the pub, the table of three men grinned at the massive stranger. The one with the mohawk was very much entertained as he gave him thumbs up.

yes yes we love wingman!141

You laughed, your breath warm against his ear. “Are you going to set me down or am I having my drink on your back?” “Don’t give me ideas.” He chuckled as he lowered you to your feet.

HOW CUTE IS SIMON CARRYING READER TO THE BAR? AAAAAAA

“Okay. Well, thanks for he drink. You could get back to your mates if you want.” “I’m Simon,” he mustered instead.

“he mustered” AAAH I LOVE BIG NERVOUS MEN STUMBLING OVER THEIR WORDS

When he turned to them, they immediately busied themselves with their drinks, averting their gazes.

LMAO

So that was why you were alone. You were waiting for someone. Disappointment anchored at the bottom of his chest. “Right. Okay.” You smiled. “Thanks for the drink, Simon. I’ll see you around, yeah?” He grunted and you headed to the end of the bar. He stood umoving for another second before retreating to his table like a kicked puppy.

ummm omg I literally keeled over and slumped out of my chair in sympathy for simon for a good minute before I could read on OMG CIN HOW COULD YOU (lmao jk I loved this sm)

You flagged down some other blond man who walked over to you with a smile.

LMAO yes yes simon you are clearly superior

“I know she’s with someone, but I can tell she likes you more,” Price said, and Simon finally tore his gaze away from you. “Ye should fight ‘im, L.T. He dinnae stand a fuckin’ chance.” “You can knock him out with a slap,” Gaz quipped.

fucking love this, cin has 141 characterisation down to a T with each of their responses!!!! 

also men of the world if you can please take notes on stepping up from 141 here, please start doing so yesterday tyvm

so busy mopping up my heart from melting at how adorable this meet-cute is and I also got halal two days in a row from the halal guys cart by work thanks to reading about the kebabs in this fic

-----------------------------------------

and finally reading: Ghost x asmr artist reader by cinny

"Simon had a pepper problem and a pasta dilemma"

🥺🥺🥺🥺 I am dying at the cuteness here alr🥺🥺🥺🥺

You turned to him. He noticed the little startle before you shoved your phone back in your pocket.

men who are self-aware of their size and presence and the effect it has on ppl around them and act accordingly, I love you

Your quiet cooking videos were one of the only things left that offered him calmness, especially on those nights away on missions, giving him tingles in all the right places, and shamefully, the wrong ones too sometimes.

sir, sir, there is no room for shame in love~

“Ah- I’m sorry,“ he managed, flustered by your sudden exit. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but you make those videos, don’t you? I recognised your voice.” You grinned, turning to him. “I just wanted to thank you,” he said. “Your videos comfort me a lot.” “I’m happy to hear. Thank you for watching.” Simon wanted to tug his beanie over his face because as you walked away, he was unmoving with a racing heart and a blush over his pale cheeks.

omfg WANTED TO TUG HIS BEANIE DOWN??? I AM IN LOVE I LOVE STRONG YET VULNERABLE GIANT MEN SM (this is a fluff fic so I am keeping with the fluffy vibes nd restraining my horny ass from choking out some absolutely thirsty comments here)

Despite the uncomfortable circumstances, your quiet yet crisp voice always sent him into a restful slumber.

yes shoutout to my favorite YT vids and comfort fics for putting me to sleep without fail

The chance encounter only fuelled his attraction. Knowing the kind smile behind the sweetest voice felt like an intimate secret, one you shared with him and only him - not with the rest of your few thousand subscribers.

i love how sweet simon is here with his lil parasocial crush and OMG WHEN READER APPROACHES HIM FIRST IN THE PASTA AISLE I also blushed IRL GOD I LOve FLUFF FICS SM

“Someone sent in a recipe for a video, and it’s absolutely delicious. I’ve been making it at least once a month ever since.”

SIMON’S COMFORT YOUTUBER’S COMFORT RECIPE IS SIMON'S??? WHAT IS THIS GLORIOUS OUROBOROS OF A COINKYDINK

He combed his hair back with his fingers, hoping his hat hair wasn’t terrible. He caught the double take you did at his tattooed arm.

🥰hehehe i love these little tidbits and morsels of vulnerability (hmm good band name, writing that down)

The rich scent of caramelised meat drifting in the room wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

Between sips of tea, you enjoyed your own halves of the chocolate wordlessly, the music melting into the background.

The savoury aroma glided past the thin gaps of the oven, swirling and dancing between you and him.

mmmmmm this has to be one of the coziest fics ive ever read

“I was an apprentice butcher before I enlisted.” He pressed down on the ricer with ease.

so much said in two sentences!!! ugh mwah mwah so many chef’s kisses for your writing style cinny

also loved how both are very self-aware and how reader picks up on simon talking about his mom in past tense and the whole fic emerging to fit around this bit of simon’s story is so wonderful to me… He waited until you took a bite before taking his own, and his breath caught. His brows furrowed as lump formed in his throat. Had the ground cracked and plunged him into a glitched universe? He was once more in Manchester, 10 years younger, finally home after a long day at the butcher, his mum and brother waiting at the table with the piping hot dish in the middle of it.

literally picturing that critic eating ratatouille flashback end scene from the eponymous movie 😂🥰

The last thing he wanted to do in front of you was shed a tear, but there he was, some hulking stranger sobbing on your shoulder as nostalgia held him in a death grip. It was humiliating to be seen like this – he didn’t remember the last time he cried from feelings, yet the tears wouldn’t cease despite his efforts. But you held him close, and his thick arms wrapped around you. He told himself if he pulled you close enough, it would hurt less.

i love how simon’s comfort streamer becomes an IRL comfort place for him to safely break down 🥹🥹 did I cry from reading this? IDK MAYBE WHO KNOWS? (looks at the ruined kleenex piled in my wastebin)

I hope all readers know and have a person and place like this (and may we host such places and become such people as well) 💛✨🌿

and of course I will pause my rambles here with a big-ass hug 🫂 and thank you to cinny for being a wonderful comfort fic writer for meeee 🫶🫶🫶😘👌😘👌😘👌

[luffyvace]

Bonolenov x reader who’s from his tribe!! (｀_´)ゞ

Came up with this cute prompt when I was writing my phantom troupe relationship hcs

I love this idea :) enjoy bc its gn!~

Now to him, he was the last member of his tribe

the gyudondond tribe

it was low key depressing knowing that

Epsecially in knowing they were pushed out of they’re territory for modern buildings

and got erased ☹️

which is a cruel and unjustly way to go

but nothing was fair in the world the troupe grew up in

so he doesn’t let that get him down

and for you, you thought you were also the last member

knowing your entire tribe is wiped out and your the only one left….

how comforting. 😐

y’all probably met in meteor city or through the troupe

and I say this because 1) anyone outside the troupe he isn’t ordered to kill, he ignores. And 2) it’s just reasonable, he hardly talks to anyone outside of business

anyway

You both were overjoyed that your entire clan had not been eradicated !

seriously it’s so good to know at least one person in the world relates to you like no other

and has your cultural background!

Honestly as soon as you saw bonolenov’s holes you prob was like “wait..gyudondond tribe..?”

‼️ “yes I am! You know of it??….are you..?”

”YEAH!”

”what..?? I thought the rest of my tribe had been slaughtered!!”

”same! I though I was the last one!”

and boom 😎

you two found each other

And found out your the only TWO left in your tribe 👍 (😃)

talking about your traditions and culture together is always super fun and is soothing to be able to not have to explain how anything works

You share childhood stories once you get close enough

and how peaceful your village was

at some point you even got to how you survived the colonists 😬

But mostly lighter topics, like talking about your pasts and what turns you took

if your in the troupe he’s glad he doesn’t have to worry much about your safety since you at least should know nen

but he still kinda does because if you die then he’ll really be the last member this time :/

Although I will say he believes in your strength 💪

even if your not the strongest he knows you can handle yourself

discussing what happened to your tribe is kinda upsetting but there was some happy memories mixed in

if your angry and wish to seek revenge he understands

he may even help in what ways he can

and tbh

you two being a couple—both gyudondond tribe members work out better than either of you getting with someone outside the tribe

especially since your both used to y’all traditions and cultures

as far as food, dancing and his holes

plus courting will be the way the tribe traditionally does it

as well as gifting and such

it’ll just work out a lot better and things will run more smoothly in your relationship

and you two are generally just much happier

you could even live in a gyudondond traditional house and you two wouldn’t strife!

it’s like a dream for the both of you 😍

yall meant to be fr 😪🔗

overall you guys are very happy to relate to the other on that extra level 💗

Aww how cute

I really hope a bonolenov stan sees and enjoys these <3

[saintundying]

I’m sorry for jumping into your inbox with this but I feel like I’m about to start climbing the walls rewatching season 2.

I’m trying to stop myself from getting too much hope up for 70’s Devil’s minion. But like…. if it wasn’t a thing, they are soo toying with us (which hey, they might be 😂).

The “digging around in Daniel’s head” scene in 2x2 drives me insane. Daniel proposing to his wife in 1985, okay, let’s say there’s no earlier Devil’s minion, this is about how different a trajectory his life took in this version of the story compared to 1985 in the books.

But- BUT with the knowledge from the books this scene becomes insane!! Daniel, proposing to his wife, in 1985 and being turned down. Daniel proposing the same year he was turned in the books but isn’t turned in the show?! The camera lingers a moment on Armand while Louis asks about how Alice responded to Daniel’s proposal? THEN!!! then Daniel starts flashing to memories Armand fucking erased from his head!!!! (The proposal being turned down also helps drive me crazy, because of it was just about the different trajectory of his life, why doesn’t she say yes? Why is it instead a rejection that matches with how Daniel isn’t a vampire yet?)

1985 -> Daniel being turned down -> camera lingers on Armand -> memories of Armand, erased by Armand.

How is anyone meant to still have any sanity left after that??

Then they keep rubbing it in with stuff like cutting to Armand making a face after Daniel says “Yah” in 2x4. And I’m not even a hardcore Armand is Alice believer 😭😭, but I’m still standing here with my bloody conspiracy wall covered in red threads. I know there are other explanations (for example, Armand is just about to start an amazing face journey listening to Louis wax about his emotional-support-hallucination-ex-husband, so maybe he’s just not super keen about that) but there’s so much of it that if it’s not meant to mean something… someone in that writers room is doing an evil snicker.

omg never a bother - i love talking theories and devil's minion! i have no sanity left with them

GODD the way this show conflates the Dark Gift with marriage and how lestat turned louis on the alter and daniel proposing armand turn him so they'll be together and equals.......but yea lol, alice is clearly meant to stand out as odd. you are so right that placing that memory in 1985 is weird. they'd be well aware tvc fans would notice that. there's...a lot of weird questions that surround daniel, and by extension, armand. i am fascinated with why armand needed to hurt daniel with alice. he's the one who brings her up and he lets louis hurt him with her memory just enough to unsettle him before soothing his pain. that's armand's thing - i am the hand and the balm (i was literally bothering oldbutchdaniel today about armand/amadeo/daniel and how their dynamic is just reynold/alma and control and care ughh armand you need to settle down!!!) anyway, yea past devil's minion happened to me, but alice is a very real person (i think daniel left armand for her or some mix of that). 70s dm is the only logical reasoning for the show to establish armand would never turn someone only to turn someone a day lateri. armand loves daniel and cant bear him leaving/dying. the end!

also tbh i think the timeline for past dm makes way more sense than i think people believe but you have to subscribe to loumandaniel+dubai is loumand trinity gate era in order to see the vision lol

[our-queerplatonic-experience]

I honestly don't know how to start this cause I'm awkward lol but basically: my mom thinks my close(ish?) Friend is my "boyfriend"... could not be further from the truth 💀 (also sorry this is a bit long btw i like detail & that is a pain for me to deal with sometimes. This could be catagorized as venty but this is meant to be just a bit of a mind dump)

I'm aromantic asexual (romo+sex repulsed/adverse) & bigender (boy+girl), the um- suspected "boyfriend": she's a lesbian trans woman. This has happened a couple times, ligit were that mean gay & overly nice lesbian meme & somehow A NOTABLE AMOUNT OF PEOPLE THINK WERE DATING 💀 told her like imidiatly over text just to clear anything up like if my moms weird or smth. She was just like "oh shit" & we havnt mentioned it since.

What makes it a bit awkward tho is I DO lowkey have a squish/qp crush on her, on & off, but I know that my attraction tends to fade & waver with time (like- Lithqueerplatonic / Queerplatonicflux I guess). So I wouldn't really want to be in like, a qpr w/ her. That & I've always kinda "worry" that my boy/masc part may make most lesbians uncomfortable being in a qpr with me and vice versa with gay men & my girl/ fem part.

Anyway I just have really intense platonic feelings when I do have them & I wish as a society we were more ok with expressing that ;> RELASHIONSHIP ANARCHY WHEN?? when will ppl be "allowed" to kiss their homies goodnight without it being perceived romantic?? WHEN ;D (I'm also on the aplatonic spectrum, dont have many friends & dont plan on having many. I think too many ppl overwhelm me.)

My ideal QPR would just be like: cuddling/leaning on eachother, time together, nicknames & small gifts of appreciation (inexpensive &/or handmade stuff or food), I find kissing weird as a concept so a no for that personally in general. And like, at this point... thinking out loud idk if I want to do that w/ her specifically or if I just want a qpr? Cause like I'd only feel comfortable even touching ppl I'm fairly if not really close to & she checks that box by being in my short friend list. For reference: I only started regularly hugging & saying I love you to my best friend recently & we've known eachother & been mutually eachothers best friends for a decade. (I used to occasionally question if i had qp feelings for him but I am like VERY sure it's just heavy platonic appreciation. i love him so much hes the brother i never had i fr cannot stress how much i love him hes fr fr the best bro bro not even related to the topic really i just want to say that i love tf out of him hes awsome)

Anyway plz prey/etc that I don't get weirded out by my mom so much that I come out as aroace 💀 (i find even the idea of being in a romantic/sexual relationship repusing & unconfortable to think about. Just not my thing, if that changes fine i just don't anticipate that happening. Also I don't think she's like, a "kick me out" aphobic, just an uneducated 1. I just don't want to deal w/ any of it tbh. I want a clean cut "I am [blank]" statment and for the "conversation" to be over with but I don't expect that ) tldr: wish me luck on this journey of the cringe that is existing ☺

good luck!!!!! existing do be difficult but it will be okay :]

[juuuulez]

Okay but since that anon mentioned your Capulet series, I've re-read it and as I am also re-watching The Last Of Us, I can't help but Invision pre-apocalypse Negan and Reader as Joel and Sarah, esp when the outbreak happens at school, it gave me TLOU ep 1 vibes tbh! <333

ALSOOOO I can just SEE a younger reader pulling a "drugs. I sell hardcore drugs." at Negan if she ever gave him a gift for his birthday or something post-apocalypse!

UM UM UM WHY IS THIS IN MY DRAFTS!!!! WHY DIDNT I POST THIS!!!!!!!!!!! okay lock in for my walking dead infodump

oh wow this is so cute… my TLOU and walking dead obsession go hand in hand so knowing that it gave those vibes is the biggest compliment ever

but can i admit something naughty…….

there’s actually an alternate ending to capulet. like, a “canon” version that goes along with the rest of twd……and i never wrote it because, well, it’s a carl fic, and we’ve already mourned his death once.

i’ll put some stuff about it under the cut, because who knows, maybe one day i’ll write it:

basically, if carl had of died like canon, reader would’ve went a little bit crazy. not terribly so, just paranoid, and probably bitching out even more on the saviours.

when negan’s captured it’s like the nail in the coffin, and she’d basically beg anyone to stick around and help her break him out, but nobody wants anything to do with it: the sanctuary is completely abandoned. she spends days, maybe even weeks, incessantly plotting some stupid plan, but never gets around to committing because ultimately she knows it’s slim.

this is simultaneous to rick going a little off the rails, y’know, cus his son is dead. so, with rick paying less attention, and reader still a giant red question mark on the community? maggie takes things into her own hands.

because she’s not risking negan escaping. as far as she’s concerned, you’re a loose thread, someone who could fuck this whole thing up. but being pregnant she can’t exactly do much about it, so instead, she handballs the task to michonne.

the instructions are very clear: kill her. doesn’t matter how, or where, or with what, just make sure it happens.

michonne spends maybe a day hunting you down. the second you even spot her at the sanctuary, you run, letting her chase you anywhere you can get on two legs.

that doesn’t last forever, for michonne is smarter, and probably quicker. she corners you in this dusty area at the edge of town, finally getting you down to your knees. up until this point, you’ve been a rabid animal, fighting and yelling and spitting.

but she just needs you to listen to her.

because she’s not gonna kill you.

instead? you will go far, far away. anywhere but here. and if you ever showed your face again, if anyone even caught the tiniest whiff of you, you’d be killed on sight.

that’s not a bad deal, though. compared to execution, at least.

michonne takes your bat, deciding that would have to be ample proof that she got the job done. you also hand over that little notebook you always carry, the one with drawings of carl in it.

(years later judith would find this notebook and go down to interrogate negan: before eventually suggesting that he keeps it, for he has nothing that reminds him of you. he declines and says that you’d probably wanted judith to have it).

everyone in alexandria thinks you’re dead. michonne tells maggie, who subsequently spreads the news, taking some satisfaction in telling negan, who’s downright miserable.

because it’s depressing. you had been free, and now you were dead. it was almost animalistic, like you’d been put down, like your life wasn’t human enough.

it was unfair because his mistakes got him imprisoned, whilst yours got you killed. that’s fucked up. but, it’s meant to be fucked up, because it’s meant to be a lesson.

years pass like this.

it only serves as another point of tension between negan and maggie, but that isn’t uncommon at this point.

“you killed my husband.”

“you killed my daughter.”

to which maggie would always say, “she’s not your daughter.”

not entirely untrue, but it still stung.

and now it’s 2028: the unlikely pair has ventured into new york in order to rescue hershel, and have been tipped that there’s somebody who knows the area like the back of their hand.

someone who works for the croat, but never speaks with him directly, and can therefore fly under his radar. a scavenger who travels across cities searching for any supplies that could be of use, all in exchange for safety and protection within the bounds of new york.

aaannnndddd i think you can figure out the rest

[idyllic-affections]

angel kisses.

summary. kaveh is always there to kiss away his sibling's pain. trigger & content warnings. brief (unintentional) s/h mentions. tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. hurt/comfort. kaveh & younger sibling!reader. 0.5k words. they/them pronouns for reader. author's thoughts. tbh no thoughts, head empty, only the silly architect. he has infected my brain. he lives in my head rent free! anyways dont worry you guys, this isnt the worst kaveh & sibling!reader angst i have, there are worse things coming teehee 💕💕💕 reader has gifted kid burnout syndrome in this (no they dont. its undiagnosed adhd /hj) because I Am Projecting.

       Kaveh hated seeing his sibling cry more than anything in all of Teyvat.

       He hated the way their lip would begin tremble and their voice would begin to waver when something didn't go the way they had hoped it would. Whether it be a project falling through, or having a thesis rejected, or getting into a debate with their seniors that they couldn't win simply because some of those researchers were too stubborn to admit to a junior that they were wrong...

       He hated the way the Sumeran culture handled the children that seemed to be smarter than the others, plastering silly labels onto them that only served to differentiate them from their peers and set them up for a life of impossible expectations and psychological struggle. Such as was the case with his sibling. Kaveh had seen the effects of labelling first hand one too many times, and seeing his sibling in the state they were in was but a painful reminder that such titles only cause harm. It was why he advocated so passionately against them.

       He hated the way they would whimper, breath stuttering and shallow as they tried to suppress their tears. The aggression with which they rubbed their eyes only made their face puffy and somewhat sore. It could sometimes get so bad that little scratches would line their cheeks; Archons, he loathed the sight of their skin being cut up like that. He hated that he had to guide their hands away, kissing their fingertips with such tenderness, as if to remind them that they should not be using their hands in a way that would only hurt them more. Their hands were not meant for harming, especially not for harming themselves. Their hands were made for greater things—creating, writing, being held—anything but harming.

       He hated the way their soft cries always ended up breaking down into sobs when they were alone with him, how they would weep into his shoulder as his hands stroked up and down their back soothingly.

       They were so pretty when they weren't crying, he thought. He much preferred seeing them smile, even if it was at his own expense. He supposed he could stand to lose a petty debate with his annoying roommate if it were to make them giggle. Kaveh loved seeing them happy; they were just so stunning when they were, outshining even his most remarkable achievments.

       In a way, though, he knew very well that this side of them was equally beautiful in its own right.

       Voluntary vulnerability was such a wonderful thing. It was as if they were placing their fragile heart in his hands to protect and care for in their toughest moments. He always had and he always would. Trust like that... even the gods above would envy how fully they trusted Kaveh in their most emotional times.

       He'd drop anything to kiss away their pain; he cherished his clients, but he cherished his sibling much more. Their health, physical or mental, came before all else.

       "I love you," they murmured softly, tiredly, eyelids fluttering shut as they leaned further into his embrace.

       The gentle kisses he left on their eyelids were enough to indicate that the sentiment was very much mutual.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! angel kisses are kisses placed on the closed eyelids of another. they communicate a deep sense of fondness and protectiveness over the recipient.

[theplushfrog]

so you know those "gratuity journals" and "gratuity meditations" that are very popular among influencers?

I HATE them.

I've never been able to pin point while until lately when listening to the song All-American Bitch by Olivia Rodrigo. The song is a kind of parody/satire about being an American woman and all the conflicting sexist values imposed on you.

The song ends with her softly singing "All the time, I'm grateful all the time" and has a line in the background saying "all the fucking time" underlining how much bullshit these expectations are.

Before this, I thought maybe gratuity was just a practice that didn't jive with me personally, but when I thought about the expectation of gratuity, I started to understand why I disliked it so much.

See, does anyone else remember the posts about The Giving Tree and The Rainbow Fish and how they related to common gifted kid experiences?

As a "gifted kid" (likely just a bookish autistic kid tbh), I loved The Rainbow Fish, but not the story. Just the fish itself. I hated the story with a burning passion. Same with The Giving Tree. I related HARD to both the Tree and the Fish.

I know both books are ideally meant to teach about generosity and sharing, but as a tiny child marked as a"gifted kid", those stories taught me that people will ask of me for everything special I have until I am nothing else but a stump in the ground. And then they'll continue to use me to suit their needs, without respect for mine. They'll take all of my scales (parts of my body even) and leave me with nothing for myself.

I remember growing up Catholic and being told to be grateful to God for everything. Literally everything. Not only grateful to him for the sun in the sky, but grateful too for the A+ on my paper and for learning to ride my bike without training wheels. My own accomplishments weren't even mine, they were God's, apparently.

Told from every angle that people (even deities) were hungry to take what I worked hard for, to take every little thing that was special about me and hoard it for themselves. It's no wonder I hate being told to be grateful.

Fuck you, -I- did the work, it was MY blood, sweat, and tears that got me to the place I am today. I don't need to be grateful. I need to be PROUD.

For me, as a perfectionist and someone with low self-esteem, being proud of myself and my work, that is self-care.

It may not be that way for everyone. But for me, I worked hard to even be able to be proud of myself.

[chromotps]

#saw this and thought it’d be up your alley^^#very star crossed vibes haha

oh!! tbh i don't know if i've ever gotten a submission before haha i hope this works right

[steeples my hands] this is up my alley... the poetry... ace acknowledging luffy and even sabo are somehow different from him... the idea that ace is in the echoes around luffy all the time......

but also. I am a big soft depressed weenie (especially after getting off work lmaO) so i have to make ace happy eventually—EDIT: I got a second wind and wanted to stretch my writing muscles, so... Have a wild drabble!!

Even as it set, the sun's light washed over Luffy like honey: rich and copious. It was something Ace couldn't lift from his brother's skin no matter how hard he imagined. Luffy was meant to be like this, golden.

Ace knew it was an odd thought, but he couldn't help it. They were sharing a rare quiet moment at the hill where they'd wept for Sabo. Now, with Ace's departure drawing near, he found his mind meandering down strange, overly sentimental paths, especially when it came to his brother.

Breaking himself out of the pattern, Ace unwound a hand from where it'd been wrapped around his knees, and gave a cursory yank—tugging on the tattered, too-big hat resting against Luffy's back.

"You don't really need this thing, do you?" he said. "You never get burnt."

Luffy, interrupted from idly pulling at the grass around him, looked up with an affronted expression. "Of course I need it! It was a gift from—"

"From Red-Hair, yeah, yeah, I know." Ace sighed. "I'm not saying it's not important to you, relax. Just that you don't need it—the sun doesn't bother you."

Luffy tilted his head, goofy preteen face squinting at the clarification. As if he had to think of everything in concrete terms, Luffy pulled the hat off his back, holding it in his hands so he could contemplate it.

A grin spread across his face. "I guess you're right! I'm still glad I have it, though." His smile was dazzling; Ace didn't look away, but his heart suffered a pang for the lack of action.

"It's a part of my dream, like you said." Luffy nodded. "As long as I have this, I'll know I'm on my way to becoming the most amazing pirate ever!" He looked at Ace then, grin turning impish. He'd probably been swept up by another one of his dumb ideas.

"Hey, Ace, you should start calling me 'Captain Luffy.' It'll help me get ready!"

"Pfft." Ace grabbed the hat from Luffy, and stuffed it back over his brother's head. Luffy couldn't see his fond smile, whining like he was from beneath the wide brim.

Ace held the smile while he spoke over Luffy's whine. "As if. Try that again when you've actually got a crew to boss around, and your own ship."

"Aww. C'mon," Luffy sighed. He sounded put-out, but he didn't refuse Ace's next unspoken offer: the older teen knelt, facing away from Luffy, arms lifted back to accept his brother's weight.

He didn't need to say anything at this point, the two of them so used to the tradition. Ace would carry Luffy, piggy-back, to Dadan's at the end of the day. Luffy climbed into his hold easily, chin resting over Ace's shoulder, childish pout still in place.

"I'm gonna do it some day, you know." So petulant.

"Sure," Ace said. It sounded dismissive, but he didn't actually have any doubt in his mind. He knew he'd lose Luffy to that dream eventually.

His brother might be right here in his arms, and they'd wake up tomorrow close enough to touch, like always. But Ace knew he'd never really belong at Luffy's side. He didn't belong at Sabo's, or his mother's, or Dadan's; but he especially wasn't meant for Luffy's.

They entered the forest, everything dimming in the earthy shade. Luffy was drowsy at his back. Ace's overactive brain thought that only made sense. The sun would naturally retreat, with night coming on.

Twilight gave way to dusk; a branch snapped somewhere in their vicinity, and Luffy tensed ever so slightly against Ace's back.

Well, Ace couldn't have that. And so he hummed. If nothing else, he could do this for the brother he couldn't keep. He'd make sure Luffy stayed safe and grew up strong. That way, if he ever faced something dark on the path to his dreams, he'd have a song in his heart instead of fear.

"S'not even that sunny," Luffy mumbled. Ace paused, turning his head slightly, but it wasn't like he could get a clear look at Luffy right now.

He kept on walking, but asked, "What was that?"

Luffy sighed. His tired, warm voice drifted by Ace's ear. "I don't really need the hat, 'cause we spend most of our time together here. In the forest... Right?"

He sniffed sleepily and then continued, "The sun doesn't really reach us here. N... Nothin' does." In what seemed like a total leap in logic, Luffy then said, "You don't really have to call me 'Captain.' When it's just you 'n' me..." Luffy yawned. "...none of that other stuff matters, 'kay? I'm just Luffy, and you're just Ace. S'all there is."

Ace blinked.

He squeezed Luffy's leg in his grip, and kept walking.

[fen-the-magnificat]

literally EVERY question for &j. every single one

lets get into it!

the community, how much joy there is in the fanworks, and the music

aspec frankie - i still wouldn't personally write it, but i really really like how reggie does it, so i have definitely warmed up to it

romeo tbh. i didn't care that much about him when i first saw the show.

hrrrgh gonna give this one a miss sorry i really dislike any non-canon ships

angst for may. please keep hurting my fave i adore it

happiness. also colour

hurt may, and angst, as well as shenanigans

the pure amount of background details there are in the show - also the design of the show, like the set and the projections and i could talk about it all day its so clever

jumeo, i think. they're just kinda there i like that. also langelique

@thetisming. i will always appreciate him reaching out, i would be very lonely in the fandom otherwise :)

show me the meaning (there's something missing). that shit took me forever, I'm so glad it got the reception that it has, it meant a lot.

reg you are the amperstan, thanking you for tying the lot of us together, and for being so welcoming

we don't really have them (we should fix that)

maycois

may, but also frankie

I HAVE SO MANY but right now it's the end of confident where may runs on all happy, sees juliet and frankie kiss, and then like stumbles backward and runs of stage. hurts my feelings, 10/10

the entire show

maycois, or may and frankies character tags

there are so many. look at my ao3 bookmarks.

the darkest minds book series back when i was 11, there were less than 30 works and i read on ff.net

nevermoor bookseries. nevermoor discord i miss you everyday but i have been gone for so long and am scared to return

shadowycupcake or tillywunderwing. i wont bother them with tags but you guys were the first to make me feel welcomed in a fandom, i am forever grateful

i think caroline in the city? the last one was community but i have now watched that so

I've been able to connect with so many people that share my interests, and not be judged for it. i get to make things and people like it. i love being in fandoms rbiberkjsb crying brb

learn to take a step back. you will only burn yourself out if you don't. remember that fanworks (fanfic especially) are for yourself, first and foremost. learn to treat creating like a gift to yourself and not an obligation.

[winderlylandchime]

Thank you so much. We are all doing much better and in true fashion of my family we somehow have managed to turn it all into laughter. But I do come bearing gifts! Aka random updates about the man that according to my parents I am related to even though I have doubts.

-He burned down his kitchen… twice…in 1 week. All is good, he is good but he did learn a valuable lesson that noodles need water. And that lighting a candle with a paper on fire is NOT a smart move. He is on first name bases with the fire department already though because last year he got his hand stuck in a vase and walked to their station with it and then proceeded to ask if he can go down their pole (he was allowed)
-He made 3 of his (new) friends watch qaf (prom ep and first 4 of s2) and it was INSANE! I felt like I was watching straight men watch Super Bowl. A lot of “WHAT THE FUCK MAN?! GO TO THE FUCKING PROM!” And my all time favorite his friend going “I can’t fucking believe I am rooting for a 30 year old man to crash a fucking prom to get his 18 year old boyfriend back” and my brother screaming at him “STOP USING YOUR FUCKING LOGIC WHEN WATCHING THIS SHOW! IT WILL RUIN IT!”

-Brian the cat had to wear a tiny shirt because he had to have surgery (nothing serious all is good!) and of course my brother made him his very own Brian shirt. My mom said that the vet was very confused by the “I have more balls than the other Brian” shirt… Which, I for real had no clue he put that on the shirt until my mom sent me pics

-he is still very very obsessed with QAF. Any time he or anyone in my family makes an inappropriate comment, he immediately follows it up with ‘Bri Bri would love that one’

-he made our mom and dad watch it in June and he only got into an argument over Brian 1 time. He stormed out and then 10 minutes later came back bc he realized it’s his apartment

-mom and dad both hate Craig. And Mikey. And Ben. And Lindsey and Mel pissed them off too. Dad felt bad about that one bc i was there (i was confused bc im not a fan of them either tbh) so he donated money to a lesbian org to make up for his guilt to which my brother responded by calling him a bitch and saying ‘gay rights! But fuck those two’

-He joined a painting club. He sucks at painting but wanted to try it out and “plus it can’t hurt, worst case, I make some new friends” he forced me to go with him (he’s been very lovely during this grieving journey) and we walked into a painting class full of senior citizens. He thought the “seniors painting club” meant 18+. He made friends with all of them by talking shit about politics. Except the lady named Susie, he got on her good side after he snuck alcohol in and tried to ID her for it.

-he got a tattoo of a duck with a knife and a speech bubble that says ‘duck around and find out’ dad stopped talking to him for 4 days bc of it

-He tried 3 times in May to quit smoking and failed each time because “the world is pissing me off, it’s either this or murder and we all know im crazy enough” however he succeeded it in July due to the next update

-The man went on dates!!!! That’s right plural!!!! It was a mess! But a lovely mess. And a whole ass story that I got to witness first hand because I stayed at my parents over summer. honestly this was the one thing that I was SO excited to tell you guys about if he allowed it (which he did and im typing it up as we speak)

-oh and he also had to have another small surgery on his leg in September and was on crutches for a month but somehow (see update above) he was a lot more chill about it (not really, he was still his usual chaotic dumb self but he actually slept/ate/rested when told (you guessed it due to the above update)

-and last one he said i have to share if I want permission to share the story, which is that the Shrek playlist works. His date found it hilarious on their official real first date and couldn’t stop laughing once the realization kicked in that it’s accidentally in love over and over.

Dear sweet anon!! I am screaming because you have been so missed! I legit had people who would say to me "remember anon and brother anon?" and we would wish you both well. I am so excited to have you back.

HE BURNED HIS KITCHEN DOWN NOT ONCE BUT TWICE AND THE FIRE DEPT ALREADY KNOWS HIM. Of course. Of course. Why would this not be true?

Imagining a group of straight men watching QAF and responding like it's a sport is... well, an image. And your brother is very correct, we can't think too long about some parts of the show otherwise the ick is there.

I am cackling about your parents watching the show and your dad feeling so guilty for hating the lesbians that he donated to a lesbian cause. It's okay Dad Anon, the lesbians hate Mel and Linds. They're written horribly and there's so much biphobia. It's cringe (again one of the things we can't think too hard about).

Your brother joining a seniors' painting club is giving Ted on Schitt's Creek dancing with the old ladies. The pun in his tattoo would be one that Ted would be proud of too. Sorry Dad Anon. (My parents hate my tattoos too and none of them make any reference to a curse word)

Listen, I got spouse to quit smoking when we were still in our flirting stage. We were in grad school in one of those long seminars that require a break and they said "Do you want to come have a smoke break with me?" And I responded, "You smoke?" with alllllll the judgment in my voice. And they literally never smoked again. Things people will do for the horny.

Okay I'm leaving dating to the next update because I've read ahead (my spouse hates that I love spoilers but here we are - they have healthy lungs and are married to someone who will read the end of a book first).

YALL IT'S A DOOZY.

[niredsw]

so uhhh im bored af and i feel like i should make people know about this not that i think anyone cares about my life but here ya go rin lore everyone!

TW: mention of abuse, rape, and a lot of religious trauma

i apologize for the spelling mistakes from the start, i wont care about them rn

so yeah, lets start with my parents

mom: she grew up in a toxic abusive religious household where my grandpa was rarely home, she was the middle child of 4 siblings (the smallest ones are twins) and was literally the 'only good child of the pack'. my big aunt cant even take care of herself and she has 2 chlidren, she recently divorced her husband and is on the way of becoming an alcoholic. my uncle was praised by my grandma his entire life because he is 'the only son' and is nothing but a spoiled brat whos children are also problematic af. my little aunt is the only one i love and she has a daughter (deniz, my fav cousin) and an adopted daughter from her husbands ex-marriage, shes sweet and i dont believe how she survived in that family.

grandma, shes the worst. one day mom and her sibling were all in my big aunts house and i was sitting with them, they talked about how grandma beat them up daily because of the smallest things, the clothes she hang up to dry didnt dry on time? she beat up one of her kids (not my uncle, if i may add) i was terrified when i heard that about her and im not seeing her the same anymore. mom got married at 21 just to escape from that house and she ended up being the only child thats living in the same city as grandma. grandma also manipulated me my whole childhood, telling me i should be a good muslim and get hijabed at 12 when i first got my period, teaching me things most muslim people didnt even know their whole life when i was only 7, telling me men are always right and i should just obey what they say yada yada ya, she still treats me like her personal servant and keeps telling thing like "you look like a whore in that shorts" and shit, idc anymore but growing up with it is not very helpful tbh

so, mom beating me up when shes angry is not because shes abusive, its the only way she learned and shes not strong enough to break the cycle, so dont get angry at her its not her fault

dad: tbh i dont know if dad had gone throught anything like mom but his family is full of relative marriages and his uncle (whos 64) has a child as my age, she went to a mental asylum because of her father and just got out a few days ago, if i may add, his uncles suck but my grandma is the only normal one (and the only, oldest girl) among 5 siblings so i think thats pretty lucky, but growing up in a neighbourhood full of those kind of people definitely affected him and it shows over the years

yea well now its my time i guess

i was a bad child. i did some bad things. i swear i did it all for fun and it meant nothing

OKAY sorry sorry this is not it im not jojo siwa in a disguise (or i am?)

so, i had a pretty good childhood, if you ignore all of these things;

my family went in a hella dept because of my uncle (i told you hes a piece of shit) and we were always very careful with money, my parents tried to make it up to me and my sis with a lot of things but it did affected us

i dont know how we ended up in that debt but we sold our house and coffe shop so we could pay it, i was 8 when it all happened and i dont really remember most of it

my voice thingy and all of those health problems, i lose my hearing from time to time, have a genetical heart disease thingy, yada yada ya i am not gonna list all of them, lets just say after i was 6 i knew everyone in that hospital i was going practically 3 times a week

also i was the top student in primary school, the first one to learn how to read in my class and was practically a gifted child before i burn out but i dont care about that shit anymore im already a pretty big failure

then, we moved to my current city

4th grade was shit, my teacher didnt even care about her students, it was so easy to eb the top of my class but that school was really shitty, a pedophile teacher, who tried to rape and would do if i didnt kick his balls, a psycho kid in my sis's class that was sent to kids jail in 2nd grade, basically, shithole.

then i won a scholarship from my current school and i've been there for 5 years now, gonna start my 2nd year of highschool in a few weeks

i dont talk about middle school because that shit was crazy but also pretty boring at the same time, so yeah i think thats the rin lore? idk? nobody needs to amswer or say anything i just wanted to share it here so i dont have to explain it every time something bad happens to me

[kellyscowboy]

꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ BROOKLYN RED

ᯇsummary ! ✦ in manhattan they'd call it a sin, but race's wearing brooklyn red for him ᯇpair ! ✦ spot conlon x racetrack higgins (livesies) || inspired by Tennessee Orange by Megan Moroney & these (one) (two) posts by @crystallized-twilight ᯇvienna’s thoughts ! ✦ uhhh i definitely think this could be better but i just wanted to get it out of my drafts tbh LMAO. i swear the next piece or writing will be better :') 1249 WORDS © 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

"Racer!" Spot groaned. "I give up. Ya ain't never gonna learn the damn song."

Racetrack smiled and took a drag from his cigarette. "Well, I like the teacher betta than the lesson anyway."

"No amount of flattery can make up for how badly ya butchered our song," Spot laughed. He continued to speak, but his words were lost in the night.

The lights on the Brooklyn Bridge gave Spot a certain glow. One that made his skin look like that of an angel. Racetrack couldn't help but stare as he watched the boy laugh. He wanted to listen to Spot, he really did, but how could he listen to him when he was so beautiful? He tries his best to focus, but who could if Spot was sitting in front of them looking like a gift from God?

Race wanted to tell him every one of his thoughts. How Spot's laugh was probably what Heaven's trumpets sound like, how gorgeous his eyes were-

"I mean, honestly, how do ya mess up the wor-"

"Red's definitely your color." And he winced because that was definitely not what he had meant to say. It didn't even begin to cover half of what he was thinking.

Spot smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "Red's Brooklyn's color, Racer."

He groaned, "I just meant- It looks good on you. Like, really good. Ya look heavenly right now. You sure you're real?"

"Pretty sure. Speaking of red," Spot shoved his hand into his selling bag and pulled out a crumpled shirt. "I know you'll always be Manhattan, but... I thought, maybe, you could play Brooklyn sometimes too?"

Race moved to grab the shirt and exchanged it for the one he had been wearing. He scoffed, mostly at himself. "God, the boys would kill me if they saw me wearing this."

"Ya still ain't told anyone 'bout us?"

"Have you?" Race snapped, slightly defensive.

A beat.

"No." Spot admitted as he adjusted his hat. He crossed his arms, defeated and grumpy. Race slumped down with him, he intertwined their fingers and let his forehead bump into Spot's neck.

"I didn't mean to snap at'cha." He sighed. "I just- I don't know how to tell ''em that the Spot Conlon—the one who left us for dead during the strike (hey!)—is my sweetheart. Hell, how am I supposed ta tell 'em you got me wearing Brooklyn red?"

Spot rolled his eyes. "I did not leave you for dead." A shrug. "You're all still alive, aint'cha?"

Race smiled fondly and rested his forehead against the others. "Yeah, I guess we is."

"I'm glad you are," Spot whispered. Then he straightened himself and pushed Race an arms-length away, and held him there. "Because if you weren't I woulda never seen how good you look playing Brooklyn."

He laughed and shoved Spot's cap—which was really his own; he had been sporting Spot's actual cap ever since the time they went to the racetracks—over his eyes. "Don't forget it's just playing. I'm only Brooklyn in your dreams."

"Damn right."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Race flipped the shirt in his hands over and over again. He stared into the deep red that felt so much like home that it almost made him sick to his stomach. God, if anyone saw his damned red shirt. It was just a stupid shirt, but holding it in his hands felt like treason.

"Hey, Racer. Haven't seen ya in a while; where ya been?" And his heart dropped into his stomach as he rushed to crumble up the shirt and shove it under a blanket. Jack threw his hat onto a random bed before addressing him again. "Woah! Ya good, Racer? Ya look like you'se a ghost or somethin'."

"I'm alright. Hey, uh," it's now or never, "I've gotta tell ya somethin'. But- Listen, you can't tell the other guys, they'll probably kill 'im."

Jack's eyebrows furrowed, concern flooded his expressions. He leaned against a bed frame with his fists clenched. "Did someone hurt ya, Race? Did'ya mess with some dame and her fella got at ya?"

He couldn't help but laugh. "I'm fine, Kelly. Seriously. You've taught me better than that. Kind of."

The strike leader all but sighed with relief, then sat down on the bed across from Race. "So, what'dya need to tell me? What, ya done sellin' papes or something?"

"No, no. I'm still sellin' papes. I don't got enough money ta quit." He paused. "I might've... met someone."

Jack smiled, crossed his arms and leaned back in amusement. "And?"

"And... he's really good to me. He's got these eyes and they're... they're so blue that it's almost scary. Ya know the kind? He holds doors open for me, stop laughing. And he ain't made me cry yet. Which is saying somethin' for him." Race was looking down at his hands, a stupid smile beating the embarrassment to his face. "He ain't from 'round here, but he still- He still feels like home, ya'know?"

"I know the feelin'. Who's the fella?"

Race looked up, only to meet Jack's eyes just for a second. "Ya can't tell the other fella's, Jackie. I mean, they'd probably call it a damn sin-"

"Racer, come on. They ain't like that-"

"No. Not 'cuz of that, not 'cuz he's a guy. 'Cuz he's..." Race sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "He's got me wearing Brooklyn red, Jack."

And to that, Jack let out a long sigh.

"I know! Brooklyn ain'tcha best friend. Hell, they ain't no-one's best friend." Race started to grin a little again. "He, uh, he took me out to the bridge last Saturday."

"Oh, so that's where ya run off to. To betray us." Jack teased. He even reached forward and gave Racetrack a playful punch to the shoulder.

Race's smile was back in full force. "Anyway. It wasn't nothing like 'Hattan, but nothin' ever will be. But man, I'd like to personally thank whoever made the lights on that damn bridge. Ain't neva seen someone look like that. He looked like a damn angel."

"Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed-"

"I'm sorry Jack. It's just... man, I like him a lot. I'm even learning that stupid Brooklyn chant."

Jack laughed. "Race. I'm not actually disappointed, I'm just messin' with ya. But everyone looks better in 'Hattan colors. Can't deny that." He stated, pulling at his own shirt.

"Obviously. But that smile he carries with him makes ya forget all that. I mean, the grin he had when he made me try on a Brooklyn shirt; made me think I should only ever wear red for the rest of my life!"

Jack grinned and shook his head. "Well, well. Neva seen you so smitten over someone. So, what? Ya Brooklyn now?"

Racetrack laughed. "Never. Not even Spot's smile could make me crazy enough to leave 'Hattan."

"Ya fella's the Spot Conlon? Man, you ain't dating a fella from Brooklyn. You're basically dating Brooklyn itself!"

"I know."

"Listen, Race. Manhattan's gonna loves ya. Even the traitor part of ya." Jack leaned forward to grab Race's shoulder. "If you're happy, we're happy."

Race let out a sigh of relief.

Like a tidal wave, the rest of the newsboys poured into the lodging house. Jack gave the other boy a wink━a promise of secrecy━before he reached under the blanket, pulled out the Brooklyn shirt, and jumped up to wave it in front of the crowd. "You guys won't believe who Racer's swoonin' over!"

"Jack!"

~

[aspoonofsugar]

What do you think about the possibility of Ruby losing her silver eyes? Does it work for the story or no?

Hi!

Do you mean as in becoming blind or as a consequence of the tree treatment? Either way, I don't think it works, sorry :)

I am considering the tree scenario because I guess you are referencing ascension.

I don't think Ruby is gonna change in any particular way physically... Maybe she can get a new outfit or a new hairstyle, at most? In general, I think the result of her little therapy session with the Blacksmith (it turns out the tree is a free therapy session :P) should be for her to just accept who she is. We'll see, but this is where I am expecting we are going, as for now. At most, she can modify Crescent Rose a little. Still, I don't think she should come out as someone different.

Now, when it comes to her eyes specifically, they are literally the crux of her arc. Every character is going through the different stages/gifts (Knowledge, Creation, Destruction, Choice) in different ways. When it comes to Ruby, the motif, which is guiding her through it all is her eyes.

She uses them for the first time in Beacon, in ignorance (Knowledge)

She gains Knowledge about them and uses them to save everyone in Mistral (Creation)

She fails to use them in Atlas (Destruction? I think we might have something more for Destruction tbh in Vacuo)

She will probably choose to use them to save Cinder, instead than killing her (Choice)

Not only that, but the Silver Eyes are a metaphor for idealism:

SEW are idealists that can see the Light even amidst the Darkness and can use that light to fight Grimms aka manifestations of Darkness and Anonimity

Salem's attempt to turn them into Grimm is then her attempt to break their hope

Maria's loss of her SE symbolically results in her running away from her mission as a Huntress. She states outload she fails because of that, but once she meets Ruby she finds hope (light) again and teaches her about the eyes

Now, Ruby isn't meant to lose her idealism. Tbh we have already had an idealist lose its ideals and that was Ironwood and it did not turn out well. Like, not at all. Alternatively, we have also had an adult running away from her mission out of cynism and that was Raven and it did not end well either. So, Ruby is now at a crossroad... will she grow up like the adutls who failed her or will she become something different?

Now, obviously before she can do it, she needs to let go of her idealistic image of Summer, hence the way the last episode ended. She needs to really understand she doesn't have to be her mother and that her mother is just another person. Symbolically, her struggle is really the inverse of Oscar (one of her major foils):

Ruby wants to become Summer

Oscar doesn't want to become Ozpin

That said, I don't really see the SE as just Summer's legacy... they are a part of it, of course. Still, I think Ruby's self-actualization won't come from her giving them up, but rather by her choosing how to use them.

After all, they are Dorothy's slippers and LRRH eyes :''') Ruby is not supposed to give up on the main attributes of her fairy tales...

Just like let's say...Weiss isn't meant to give up on her Schnee name nor her legacy. Winter did and it is framed as a negative thing, as a way for her to escape from who she is. Similarly, Blake is not meant to leave her Faunus heritage behind nor to hide her cat years. And Yang is not meant to get her arm back.

All their identities are meant to be affirmed through and despite these attributes that were given to them. And yet, they all can choose what to do with it.

Thank you for the ask!