#flying commuter cars

[like-the-cut-of-your-jib]

I’ve been following this trend for A VERY LONG TIME…

I know EXACTLY in the world where I would fly one of these. 🤞

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

Life update - found out I got a job in NV, did the math and realized it would be cheaper to donate my furniture and extra stuff and move by plane, my dad flew out and helped, in 3 days packed and donated and cleaned and moved from FL to NV with 8 checked bags + 2 carry ons + 2 backpacks and about 15 packages (mostly books going media mail rate) in the post. Now I’m living with my parents again.

I am so exhausted and sore from moving furniture and cleaning frantically and moving almost 50 lb luggage.

While i was waiting for my dad to return the rental truck people kept staring and smiling it was amusing kids could not look away from me and my mountain of bags

[syxnewt]

Why don't we have flying cars yet. All the movies and shit said that we would

[excelsior9173]

i truly think the worst part of the current financial climate right now is the fact that people like me are trapped in work situations that are genuinely detrimental to their wellbeing because they cannot afford to leave

i know that i am 100% at the end of the line with my current position. the burnout is insurmountable at this point and if i get more than four bookings a day i wake up dreading everything.

however, i do not get paid nearly enough to have a cushion to quit this job and search for another. not at the rate i’m finding new things to apply for and not at the rate i’m being ignored by any and all potential employers.

the other issue though, is that it is near impossible to take on a second job because of the unreliable schedule in my current work. it makes it really hard to search for a new job when my current one is all “you need to give one month’s notice!” and most other jobs want you to start asap

i’m just so tired. i want to put my degree to use. i want to feel like i can actually afford to live

[purinfelix]

beautiful stranger ₊˚⊹♡ - franco colapinto

summary: as your city's turn to host a Formula One race rolls around, you're not surprised when your usual morning commute is disrupted. the arrival of an unexpectedly charming face, however, takes you by surprise w/c: 1.2k

a/n: yes this is inspired by a post i saw saying that franco insists on catching local buses instead of a car when going to the Williams factory - he is just so cute i cannot handle it

Your bus stopped to a screeching halt, almost throwing you with it as you made a last-ditch attempt to hold onto the rail with all your might. Silently, you thanked your many years of committing experience, having lived in a busy city, for saving you from flying into the nearest person.

Your relief was short-lived though as you caught sight of the long line of people waiting to get onto your bus, many of them donning racing-related merch. Letting out a sigh, you tried your best to shuffle out of the way to let them in and maintain your patience as you got shoved every which way.

For the most part, the public transport in your city was manageable - but being home to a Formula racing track made particular times of the year insufferable. It seemed that this time had finally come again, and it was just your luck that the track was on your regular bus route. Maybe this was the reason why you had never cared about the events, only seeing them as pure inconvenience - you probably couldn't name a single driver if you tried. You never had been that big of a sports fan, and motorsports were certainly no exception.

You're once again reminded of this fact as your bus makes a stop outside a train station and yet another hoard of people clamber on. Halfway through groaning in frustration, you lock onto a pair of green eyes, your grip on your bag slacking slightly.

If you hadn't been so taken aback you would've assumed him to be just another crazed fan, especially considering that he's wearing what you assume to be racing merch. Though as he squeezes into the bus, conveniently into the spot right next to you, you notice that the team shirt is all that evidences this. Everything else of his is completely normal, from the cargo pants to the backpack he slips off to place between his legs - well everything aside from the fact that you feel out of breath just looking at him.

You watch him brush his deep brown curls out of his face, sending you a smile - one that's polite, and nothing more than that - but your heart still skips a bit at it. Your eyes dart to the floor between your feet, desperate not to make a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger and an entire bus full of people.

Though fate has never been kind to you, taking complete advantage of the fact that you're not paying attention to where the bus is - sending you flying the next time it screeches to a halt. Flying conveniently into him.

"Fu- shit," you gasp, first at the feeling of losing your balance and second at the feeling of his large hands - one around your waist and the other catching your arm.

"Woah," he exclaims. There's a moment of silence, an agonisingly long one, which you take to regain your balance and try your best to comprehend what just happened. If you didn't know any better you might've thought you had bumped your head too hard and woken up in a romcom - and as you turn to look at him, you consider the chances for just a second, because maybe being in a romcom with him wouldn't be so bad.

But the minute you feel the hot flush of your cheeks and your heart leap into your throat, you're reminded of the cruel reality. "I am so sorry," you breath out, hands reaching for the nearest pole which so happens to be the same one he's holding.

"No, it's alright, I've got you," he laughs, and god you're wondering how even his laugh is gorgeous. "Just be careful, it's packed in here."

You laugh nervously in agreeance, "Yeah, I mean no wonder why."

He tilts his head in confusion, and even though it's adorable you're more distracted by his cluelessness.

"The Formula One race? It's today, don't you know?"

"Ah, of course!" it's his turn to let out a nervous chuckle, as your eyes dart between his face and his shirt.

"Are you not a fan?"

"Well not really, I'm-" he begins to talk, but stops himself before he can explain. "It's my sister's shirt, I'm actually on my way to work right now."

"Right," you say, drawing out your response to show you don't entirely believe him, though you're glad the conversation has swung in your favour - and now you're not the only one who seems embarrassed. You decide to take the opportunity to push further. "I'm headed to work as well, how come I've never seen you before?"

"Well normally I catch the later bus, but I thought I'd beat the crowd today." This time his response seems more natural.

"Right, of course," you nod, "What do you do for work?"

"Oh, I'm a driver."

"What, like for Uber?"

"Uh, yeah something like that."

"I see," you reply unconvinced, though before you can ask for more details the two of you are pushed even closer by more people boarding the bus.

"Is it always this busy around races?" He asks, his face mere inches away from yours.

"Oh yeah," you sigh, "it's such a pain."

"I take it you're not a fan?"

"Not really, I don't really get what all the hype is about."

"It's pretty interesting to watch," he says, looking out the window. "At least, that's what my sister's told me!"

You laugh, "you're funny."

He smiles shyly, letting out a soft laugh as well. "I think you should try watching a couple races, who knows it might be your style. Plus, I hear some of the drivers are pretty good looking as well."

You quirk an eyebrow in response, "Really? I don't know if they'd really be my type."

"You never know," he hums to himself. You're just about to throw another snarky response but the bus stopping interrupts you once more. It's the stop right outside the race track, and so immediately the people around you start filing out, chattering so loud you almost don't notice your new companion moving alongside them. You raise your eyebrows in interest, though figure an Uber driver could probably make good money at an event like this. Before he gets too far though, he manages to call out to you again.

"Pay attention to this one driver, Franco, I think you might like him!" He sends you a wide smile and a wave as he steps out and blends into the crowd now flooding through the gates of the track.

What a strange guy, you think to yourself settling down into a free seat, your bus now mostly empty as it drives off. It hadn't been the morning you were expecting, but at least you've got an interesting story to tell your coworkers once you finally got to work. That is, after you look up this 'Franco' guy he told you about.

taglist: (reply/send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

@spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk

[seat-safety-switch]

Every time it snows, I see lots of people who are terrified to operate their cars. This is poppycock, and originates from the media trying to force fear into your brain so that you stay home for a few more minutes to watch the morning traffic report and, oh, just a coincidence that it comes with a ton more ads. Stay Afraid. Buy Oreos®.

Winter driving is all about momentum. You keep your car moving, perform only gentle adjustments, and pay attention. Above all, you must not make any abrupt movements. This will unsettle the car, and then you'll careen towards a ditch, bus stop, or ballet recital. Important: allow thing to happen slowly, without your direct involvement. Freaking out and starting to chop at the wheel because you didn't get a prompt response to your last gentle input is what a toddler would do, and that's why only certain states let them drive.

Think of yourself as being engaged in the proud Canadian sport known as curling. In it, someone throws a rock down an icy slope, and some other suckers pretend to do anything at all by rapidly sweeping their brooms in front of it. Those frozen janitors are not allowed to touch the rock, because doing so will cause it to fly out of control and kill someone. When driving, you want to be the person throwing the rock, not the person frantically sweeping for no reason before accidentally maiming a cameraman from the CBC.

Whenever it snows, the first thing I do is head to the local giant parking lot. There, I can safely practice losing and regaining control of my car in the snow, without worrying about smacking a pedestrian or highway abutment. Critically, it's here that I also figure out what new holes in the cabin are letting water in. This lets me stop, get out, and apply duct tape at my leisure, rather than stewing in reflected road juices for my entire commute to work. That last part may not apply to you: for instance, you might be rich enough to be able to put marine-grade caulk or even Bondo over the rust holes in your car's floor.

If there's only one thing I can leave you with, it's this: don't panic. Like I said, tensing up and jerking around the car is only going to make things worse for everyone else on the road. Instead, let things happen. Be chill. Make sure you've got enough gas and maybe a sandwich on hand. Take a break if you've been pushing through traffic for hours. And above all, do not put an album by The Prodigy into your stereo system and then rip through red lights, completely sideways, banging off the rev limiter as you engage in icy doughnut after doughnut, just because you bought studded winter tires and have a generalized contempt for society at large. My attorney thought adding that last part would help with negotiating the plea bargain.

[da-shrimping-station]

Devildom having traffic not only on the ground but also in the skies is interesting af.

A good chunk of the population have wings (let's say it's a 50/50 split between winged and tailed demons) so surely it's a norm that you see demons flying around doin their own business.

You seen those crowded streets where pedestrians bunch together while crossing the road? That but with winged demons, flying at different heights and speeds trying to get to their destination.

Imagine MC going outside and being careful of not only foot traffic but also air traffic cuz some demons don't bother warning others that they're landing or passing by. They'd hear a woosh and needing to duck cuz some idiot flew too low and nearly clipped them with a wing or two.

There would also be exclusive no-fly zones around certain places. Also needing to check the weather if it's a good day for flying (i bet the weather and climate in Devildom can get unpredictable at times) or if it's better to walk or commute instead because air traffic is so stupid today and you can't be late for an appointment.

Imagine you chose to commute home for today cuz your wings are tired but the vehicle broke down and goddammit I wanna go home asap i guess i have to fly.

One of the reasons Lucifer agreed to Mammon getting a car cuz there's 3 of them who can't fly.

Mammon and Satan arguing about which route to take for faster travelling while Levi plays in the back seat with Belphie leaning against him and napping. Meanwhile up above, Lucifer, Asmo, and Beel keep pace with them.

Sometimes Asmo sits in the back cuz he can't afford to ruin his hair from all the flying. Sometimes Belphie shimmies out the window [[(while the car is going really fckin fast mind you) (Mammon driving at a reasonable speed? Hell nah his car was built for speed and he will go fast)]] so he can hold out a snack for Beel to snatch. Levi makes sure Belphie doesn't fall off using his arms and tail. Sometimes they'd do rock paper scissors on who gets to ride shotgun this time (may or may not include threats, blackmail, or bodily harm)

Lucifer just hopes they get to their destination on time and in one piece.

On another note, once MC gets the hang of flying with magic (I'd imagine they'll use a broom but come on why not imbue a skateboard with magic and use that to fly instead), they'd try a stab at flying and experiencing the air traffic (in all its fascinating and frustrating glory).

Alternatively, MC in the car but the brothers being little shits is becoming unbearable so they ask Mammon to stop and get out to fly with the others instead.

I fckin live for Devildom being some sort of an urban fantasy setting.

[cottonlemonade]

How You Met

word count: 1062 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Atsumu x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: spoilers, swearing once, cause Atsumu, mentions of academic pressure/anxiety

You sighed when you caught a glimpse of the unyielding gray sky out the library window. Lunch at your favorite café had lifted your spirits a little but did nothing to the overall feeling of anxiety that always came and went throughout the semester.

You felt around in your bag to make sure you packed an umbrella and tried not to think too much about the things you would rather be doing right now than sitting here and revising your notes. Listless and your head filled with melancholy, you stayed at the library for another hour, mostly on your phone, unable to concentrate on the neatly written cue cards, before finally throwing in the towel and packing up to leave.

When you stepped outside the air felt heavy but at least there was no rain yet.

You texted your friends that you had given up on academics for the day and were on your way back home, trying not to sound too miserable and eventually reached the bus stop, joining the many other commuters, all chatting or quietly glued to their phones. Finding a spot towards the end of the line you stood next to a tall guy, dressed in all black, a mask and cap covering his face and hair. After living in Tokyo for quite some time you had grown accustomed to people like him, those who so clearly didn’t want to be recognized or just wanted to pretend to be someone important or mysterious or all of the above.

Deep in thought about the possibility of dropping by your friend’s place to cuddle her dog for a while to cheer you up, you didn’t notice the wall of rain coming your way at first.

You ducked your head, hectically rummaging around for the umbrella. When you wanted to open it, however, the top just popped off, flying uselessly off the handle onto the road where a passing van swiftly dragged it along.

For a second or so you just stood there, handle in hand, watching the umbrella top disappear in traffic, not even slightly slowing down the cars.

Your mood turned from surprised to sour and you raised your hands to at least protect yourself a little, even though you were already drenched by the thick splattering drops and spray from the cars.

And just as you were contemplating that you might as well start to cry now, unnoticed in the downpour, the rain suddenly stopped, or at least for a confusing second you thought it did. The masked guy next to you had stepped to the side so that his umbrella was covering you now as well.

You gaped at him.

"Thank you.", you said, grateful, but not quite able to keep your voice steady.

He gave you a puzzled look upon the voice crack and even through the tumult of the cars whooshing past and the rain hammering onto the roof of the bus stop and his umbrella, you could hear him smirk.

"No problem.", he replied, somehow managing to sound indifferent, self satisfied and curious all at once.

He was quite a bit taller than you and a few blond strands protruded from his cap over the otherwise dark undercut.

And then, as he felt you staring, he leaned back a bit to expose a giant poster ad running on the side of the bus stop, showing a glorified action shot of a young man with a blond undercut, hitting a volleyball. In bold letters it read Black Jackals Miya Atsumu. You frowned at first, then understood and offered a politely impressed smile which he apparently took as you being too stunned to speak in his presence. He gave a nonchalant shrug as if to say “Yes, indeed it is I.”

You were sure your friend had told you about him. The name looked familiar. And judging by the poster he was just as handsome as she described. Didn’t she say he was one of the best setters in all of Japan or something?

“Hey, uhm, this is gonna sound weird, but I have a friend who is a fan of yours - I think.”

“Friend, huh?”, Atsumu looked you up and down, his mask hiding the grin he wore as he appreciated how your wet clothes clung to your plump figure.

“Yes, a friend. Would you mind giving me an autograph for her?”

He nodded and pulled a pen from his pocket, patiently waiting for you to retrieve a notebook from your backpack. You flipped to a free page and held it out to him.

“What’s yer “friend’s” name?”, he asked.

You began spelling the characters. He paused, frowning. “That’s a Japanese name.”

You nodded. “It is.”

“But ya don’t… look… Japanese.”, he said, confused.

Now it was your turn to knit your brow. “I… don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“Wait, this ain’t for ya?”

“No? It’s for my friend.”, you assured him with a quite adorable little chuckle and he felt heat rising in his cheeks.

Oh.

“Oh! Right… Uhm.” Atsumu looked down at his phone number and the (in his opinion) clever pick up line he had begun to write underneath.

Clearing his throat he flipped to a new page and dedicated a signature to your friend, then turned back to the page he started on. Eh, he might as well. “Ya should come to our next match. I’ll dedicate a serve to ya, if ya do.”

You looked like you had no idea what that meant but, wait. Did you… did you blush? Shit, did that actually work?! He quickly finished his first signature and handed the book back to you. A bus pulled up.

“Hope to see ya around.”, he said cooly and gave you an encouraging nod to get on, which, in a daze, you did, still holding on to the handle of the broken umbrella.

Mercifully, you found a seat by the window, directly above him, only able to see the top of his umbrella now. He lifted the brim.

For a moment he looked at you, weighing, considering.

Then he brought his hand to his mask and pulled it down just low enough so you could see the cocky smirk that accompanied a wink.

As the bus pulled out of the station and merged into traffic you realized that it was going the wrong way.

part 2

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for @qwertynerd97; the wet nurse omegaverse. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Best intercept her before Jon hears her coming, then,” Bruce says briskly, already heading towards his office door. “Get her up to date on the situation and prepare her for what to expect from the kid.” 

He doesn’t in any way think that Lois would take either Carl’s presence or his total lack of pack manners badly, obviously. Lois isn’t all that manners-oriented herself and in fact typically appreciates people who don’t waste time on them outside of direct necessity. He does, however, want Clark to have a moment with his alpha before Jon goes to her smelling like another omega–and specifically like another omega’s milk. 

That’s definitely for the best, under the circumstances. 

Lois would never look at another omega and Jon would never want another mother. Of course neither of them would do that–certainly not over a situation like this one, of all damn things. Certainly not over a stray stranger half Lois’s age in a socially precarious position and likely in need of legal assistance, at a minimum. But Clark’s stressed and tired and has been worrying about a literal toddler starving to death while watching said starvation happen right in front of his eyes, so Bruce is just going to be arranging things to be a little gentler on the other’s instincts wherever possible. 

It’s just very, very much for the best, that’s all. 

“There’s not that much to expect, Bruce,” Clark says with a sigh, because no doubt he feels patronized by that treatment. 

He still follows him out of the office and to the foyer, though. 

Bruce lets them both out the front door, figuring talking on the stoop will be less likely to reach Jon’s ears. It’s a mental thing–Clark does it too. Just instinctively doesn’t listen outside of certain ranges or through certain barriers unless something catches his attention. Makes it easier to pass for human and focus on what’s immediately present, but also seems to be just a sort of subconscious sense of manners. 

Meaning yes, they’re just reflexively being polite. 

Bruce has always just assumed that the entire planet has Ma and Pa Kent to thank for that particular reflex, considering, and left it at that. 

They stand on the steps, waiting, and Clark keeps his eyes focused towards what Bruce can only assume is Lois’s approaching car. The two-hour commute from the Daily Planet isn’t ideal to be making, well–daily, but there’s only so much “work-from-home” Clark Kent and Lois Lane can do, especially when they’re not actually home and might have to explain being in a different home office than usual if a meeting came up. 

And again, they don’t want any kryptonite anywhere near this situation right now, especially not with Lor already weakened by hunger and starvation. Staying in Metropolis wasn’t an option, even if avoiding anyone noticing the Lane-Kents staying at Wayne Manor is going to be an issue. But Bruce has some cover stories mocked up just in case, and they’d all rather risk their identities than risk a child’s life. 

So–the commute for Lois, since Superman regularly flying her into work wouldn’t be any subtler, and parental leave for Clark for at least a couple of months. They’ll need something better set up for the long-term, especially now that they’ve found Carl and still not succeeded at the formula synthesization and will therefore almost definitely be staying in Gotham for the forseeable future, but . . . 

It’s a process. Bruce will figure it out. Clark and Lois need to focus on their new pup, so he’ll do the planning, and then he’ll bring it to them. They’re pack too, after all. 

And either way, someone has to do it. 

Clark doesn’t say anything as they wait. Bruce resists the urge to poke at the problem. A much more effective solution is on the way.

[roebeanstalk]

hello hello 💚 super struggling, doing my best to hang in there. sorry for mostly being annoying reblogs and begging posts lately.

I'm flying down to Illinois on Thursday to visit my mom, she had some major eye surgery. she's okay, but I've been struggling with it emotionally on a bunch of levels.

money stuff is also just bleak. I'm nervous about it. bills I owe my roommate for, October rent coming up, keeping myself fed through my snap payment on the eighth.

i keep trying to job hunt, but struggle so hard cause I don't have a car and am a long bus commute from everything. and also just, PTSD both in and out of the workplace. makes it hard. I want to figure out how to approach it better after I'm home from Illinois next week.

gender and identity stuff is like... at it's best and worst. my hormone levels are where they need to be, but I swear my facial hair is darker and coarser and faster growing than it used to be. but it's also my biggest cause of dysphoria so idk... I want to get laser or electrolysis sorted but it can't even be a priority right now.

I'm sluggish and tired cause I'm pretty much only able to eat a meal a day and it's just a variation on eggs and toast.

my head is so tied up with everything. I'm having a hard time responding to people I care about and getting things done.

I'm not giving up, I'm gonna keep going. justttt struggling again and trying to be honest about it

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Three

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: 13k

Chapter Warnings: angst obviously what would this story be without it, poppy and nico having an overdue conversation, nico moping again with his big sad brown eyes, nico being jealous again, drinking, cursing, meddling friends, being stood up, mentions of controlling parents as always, a little touching maybe a little more kissing too and even more meddling friends

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

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Two)

A/N: I have nothing to say honestly just hope you enjoy I really don't know why I struggled writing most of this despite knowing what I wanted to do with it I think just figuring out how I want certain conversations to go and how to get from a to b is pure stresssss I'm not entirely in love with it but what can you do also proofread her? I hardly know her

but if you have anything to say pls send it my way lmao I'd really like to hear any thoughts or opinions 💓

Poppy

Poppy was once told by her good friend, Kelsey, that she would be able to tell everything she needed to know about a guy by the way they answered one very simple question. 

If you could have any superpower, what would it be?

She thinks about it more often than she really should, if she’s honest with herself, but Kelsey’s rationale behind each potential answer is actually a stroke of rare genius - and Poppy often finds herself applying the logic to most people that she encounters.

Guys who say super speed are the ultimate red flag. No one wants a quick finisher, no matter how fast they may be in any other aspect of life. Some things specifically require time and patience. Sacrificing your partner’s satisfaction all to say you can run the world record fastest 5k is the ultimate ick.

There’s an argument to be made for the endurance choosers, it sure has its perks, but Poppy thinks it’s a boring pick. To be given the option of any superpower, and to choose perseverance, of all things? Get a life. 

Anyone who chooses x-ray vision is a certified pervert, obviously. The same could be said for those wanting to read minds, although most of the guys Poppy has seen in her life struggle to comprehend the things she says in plain words, never mind whatever nonsense is circling through her inner thoughts. 

Those who choose flying are one dimensional, rarely able to see beyond what’s right in front of them, because, if they could, they’d choose the much better option of teleportation.

Who chooses flying when you could just think about somewhere and instantaneously arrive? With your hair in tact and no risk of bumping into any territorial birds.

Teleportation is what Poppy would have picked if anyone would have asked her a week ago, for the mere fact that commuting anywhere is the bane of her entire existence, and if she thinks too hard about it or looks to much into it, it always has been. 

She associates it with sitting in the back of her dad’s Bentley as a child, a tangible, frosty silence lingering in the air between her parents after one of their many even-toned arguments disguised as discussions, the fresh pine scent making her car sick and the leather seats making the back of her thighs sticky. 

Or the fragile bones of her hand being crushed by her mother’s tight grip as they rode the Amtrak over to Manhattan, Priscilla sneering at anyone who dared step too close on the crowded carriage, Poppy being dragged throughout department stores in the name of mother-daughter bonding time, and clutching to a tiny consolation Macy’s bag housing a sparkly lip gloss like her life depended on it the whole way home. 

She thinks of all the hours of her life she’s wasted on the Palisades Parkway, no longer able to enjoy the scenic route whenever she has to drive back to her parent’s house in Alpine after having watched one too many crime shows where a broken down car leads to a girl’s face plastered all over the news.

Even driving to work can feel like hell when the traffic is bad, what should be a 30 minute drive sometimes turning into an hour, Poppy’s fingers cramping around the wheel and her feet itching to touch solid ground after too long.

Teleportation sounds perfect.

And, there’s even a romance element to it. Being whisked away to Paris in the blink of an eye, suddenly sitting outside a boulangerie, decadent, rich hot chocolate on a table in front of her and a plate full of pastries, all because she mentioned a slight craving for a pain au chocolat. 

Teleportation has always been the only correct, green-flag answer to the question. 

Until Poppy properly considered time travel, that is.

The concept of it has always been a little too much or her to handle - too many strange loopholes, too many bad examples from the sci-fi movies her brother had loved as a kid. Travelling back in time to when her parents were her age and accidentally capturing her adolescent father’s attention à la Marty McFly? Sounds like hell and horror to Poppy. 

But that was before she screwed everything up.

If she could have any superpower right now, currently weighed down with the burden of hindsight - which people have always told her is a funny thing, but she thinks is actually somewhat diabolical - she would pick time travel a thousand times over.

Because if human beings have a specific part of their brain that is dedicated to forcing them to sit and stew on their every poor decision for days on end - lets them rethink and regret everything until they’re blue in the face, and can’t think of anything other than how idiotic they have been - it should also offer the kindness of being able to go back and change what they so royally fucked up.

That’s what Poppy thinks, at least, as she throws herself down onto her bed, her back hitting the duvet in a whoosh and all she can do is stare at the ceiling and wonder how and when she became such a certified moron.

There’s a part of her that suspects it’s in her genes. Inevitable. Unavoidable. Nature and nurture, she was born and raised to be a full blown fool.

Poppy comes from a long line of privilege, and while it does take a certain element of intelligence to amass the wealth her family has, it also tends to go hand in hand with ignorance in its many forms.

Behind every fortuitous business move her father makes are a million other mistakes - failed ventures, bad investments, shoddy pieces of advice accepted from the untrustworthy snakes he surrounds himself with. Hidden beneath every rung of the social ladders her mother has managed to climb, there are the ugly faux-pas’ slipping through the cracks of a former, more unsavoury life she can never run too far from. And her brother - well, she suspects he’s just an idiot, there are no two ways about it.

She knows that she needs to stop blaming her family, though. This time, it’s all her.

She can’t blame her father for the way she overthinks, the man who makes every decision in life with the littlest regard for how anyone else feels about it. She can’t blame her mother for the way she places such little value on herself, the woman who walks into every room like she owns it and refuses to let anyone make her think otherwise.

Except maybe she can.

If she had the nerve to talk to a therapist, they might disagree - might say her overthinking comes from her dad’s lack of communication skills, a part of her brain always filling in the gaps of a half-assed, other side of any conversation with him. Or they might say her insecurities come from her mom constantly putting Poppy down while telling her to be more sure of herself - stop slouching, Poppy, no one will take you seriously with the posture of a candy cane.

She’d love to know where her need to repress her feelings so deep that she becomes an impenetrable, cold, dark fortress comes from. The need to push and shove when someone tries to get too close, because God forbid anything is ever easy when it comes to her affections.

It would have made the past 4 days since Nico had walked into her apartment and kissed the life out of her a whole lot easier. 

4 days spent reminiscing, rethinking and regretting every single thing she had said and done since their lips parted, since he had put his heart on the line and she’d whacked it away, full swing, as if too desperate for the victory of a last-bat home run.

If she could time travel, she’d do the whole thing over.

-

“Don’t go on that date, Mohn.”

She had read the words on his lips before they registered through her ears, the sound of her blood rushing throughout her body occupying every sense for a brief moment.

What the hell is going on?

Nico had kissed her. He’d grabbed her, pulled her into him, and she’s pretty sure he had made her heart stop for a good second - there’s no other justifiable reason for the way it had been reverberating against her ribcage ever since. 

And then he stood before her, a desperate, pleading projection playing in his dark irises, lips still slick from where her own had just been, cheeks flushed, shoulders rising with subtle panting breaths, waiting for a response to a question she couldn’t even remember hearing.

“W-what?” She’d stuttered, blinking hard and shaking her head as if to rattle her brain into whatever semblance of cognisance she could muster.

Nico had kissed her, and then wanted to talk? As if she had the brain power left for any kind of discussion after that?

He seemed proud of the mess he had made of her, lips lifting at one side, drawing her gaze immediately to every movement they made, so focused on the memory of how pillowy-soft they had felt against hers that she didn’t notice him stepping a little closer, raising a large hand to tuck her hair behind her ear until she flinched at the contact.

“Sunday, Poppy,” he had uttered, unfazed by her skittishness, “Your date, don’t go.”

She had blinked again, completely overwhelmed on every front. She could still taste him on her tongue, he was so close she could smell his cologne, tunnel vision only seeing him in front of her and the hand that cupped the side of her face in her peripheral, her heartbeat echoing through her skull and every nerve, every slight hair on her body, standing as if trying to close the distance between his body and hers.

It was the sensory overload that made her go against all other instincts.

“I can’t.” Her voice had sounded like it hadn’t been used in weeks, croaky and unsure, her next words stammered, “I can’t not go, I mean. I have to go.”

“You don’t have to go, Poppy,”

“No, I do.” That had sounded a little surer, the fog in her brain slowly clearing only for something more tumultuous to pass through in it’s place. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Nico blinked once, then again, frustration clear in the furrow of his thick brows as he seemed to stew on his next words, desperate to say the right thing. There was a prolonged, tense beat, before he had asked, “Have you ever thought we could be more?”

“More?”

“More than friends.”

If her heart hadn’t stopped when he had kissed her, it must have stopped then.

His back straight, eyes looking directly into hers, a hopeful, inquisitive gleam shining from within them - he had never seemed so sure of something for as long as she had known him.

Poppy couldn’t stop the little voice in her head questioning, where the hell has this come from?

“Have you?” She had asked with a eyre of disbelief.

 Not once in the years she had known him had he ever made it seem like they could be more. There had always been an unspeakable, undeniable barrier between them. They were friends. They’d always been friends. Just friends.

Friends who spent most of their free, personal time together, friends who bought each other sentimental gifts they’d never get for anyone else, who shared intimate details about their lives and their pasts, and kissed each others heads like a goodbye ritual. Friends who broke each other’s hearts, seemingly beyond repair, without explanation.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I mean,” He had paused, breaking eye contact for a second as if wracking his brain for the right answer, sensing a teetering tension between the two of them. “Yeah. Yes. I have.”

She had narrowed her eyes at him, weighing up the possibility in her mind that she wouldn’t have liked any response he gave to her, every prospective answer causing a flood of doubt and uncertainty to crash in rushing, destructive waves through her mind. “Since when?” She’d asked, trying to level her bite.

If he’d ever thought they could be more, what the hell have they been doing all this time?

“Since I met you, I think,” he had shrugged.

Wrong answer, again.

���And you only bring it up when I have a date with someone else?”

She watched a series of antithetical emotions pass through his features, understanding, confusion, acceptance, denial, resilience, cowardice. He had seemed to find the small margins between all of them, when he had come back with, “It’s not because of your date, Poppy.”

“Then why?” She tilted her head as she continued to analyse him, again not sure what she was looking for, or what she wanted to find. That something tumultuous was already whirling within her, too late to be stopped, and Nico could seemingly see the warning signs.

“Why are you getting mad at me, right now?”

“I’m not mad,” she had denied, not even knowing if she was lying or not, “I’m confused. 2 weeks ago, we weren’t even talking, Nico-,”

“You said you forgave me for that.”

“I didn’t-.” She’d cut herself off before she could say something that would upset him, the conversation spiralling so far out of control from the momentary bliss he had provided only minutes ago - but she was too far up shit’s creek without a paddle, there was no turning back. She’d been wanting to have a proper conversation with Nico all week, what better time than the middle of the night on what was now his birthday? “That’s not exactly what I said.”

He had taken a step back, lips parting with an unreleased gasp, the once-hopeful glint in his eyes transforming into hurt. “You don’t forgive me?”

“I didn’t say that either,” she sighed, wanting answers, not to cause him anguish. “Please don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then tell me what the hell is wrong? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t understand where this has come from, Nico! You come in here and kiss me out of nowhere and tell me not to date other people and I’m just supposed to blindly follow along when I don’t get what the hell is happening with you!”

“I think me kissing you makes it pretty obvious what I want to happen, Mohn.” He had tried to ease the tension, his voice level and steady, stepping forward with his hands raised in an attempt to calm her, but she had taken a slight step back, clearly unaffected. 

“It doesn’t.” She’d stopped looking at him at that point, keeping an eye on his feet to watch his encroaching steps. “Nothing about you is obvious. You don’t tell me anything and all I can think about is what I did wrong.”

If he couldn’t see the tears pooling at her lashes, he had to have heard the break in her voice - a sure indicator that she was close to crying - but his steps had stopped, feet seemingly stuck to their place on the hardwood flooring of Poppy’s apartment, and she could feel her heart shatter knowing he wasn’t persisting again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He tries to reassure her, but it’s no use.

Maybe she would have believed him if he’d held her while he said it, transferred the meaning through touch to her skin, gripping her with every word until she truly understood the weight of them.

“It had to have been something. You don’t just stop wanting to know a person for no reason, Nico, so what was it?” She made her way to her couch, perching on the edge of the seat with her knees pressed together, and looked over to where he remained standing.

She could feel her temper flaring again. 

How could he have the nerve to do this to her - to turn her world upside down in a matter of minutes - and not have the answers she needed to accept it?

“Poppy-,”

“I need to know. I can’t drop it and forget about it, and I’m sorry that I made it seem like I could, but if you want us to move on from this, if you want to come here and kiss me like that, and tell me you don’t want me seeing other people, I need to know what happened.”

“I-,” Nico sighed heavily, shoulders drooping, any confidence and bravado he had displayed after their kiss now a distant memory. “I don’t know.”

She had an immediate, striking thought, that maybe if she asked closed questions, he could give her an answer, and so, with misplaced courage, she asked, “Was it her?”

“What?”

“Your girlfriend. Did she ask you to stop talking to me?”

It was a thought that had been plaguing her for longer than she’d like to admit - unable to shake the idea that maybe Talia had seen one of the texts she had sent, had gone through Nico’s phone and seen any of their older messages, any photos he might have kept on his phone, maybe a memory had come up from snapchat, maybe someone had mentioned Poppy and her curiosity had been piqued. 

Poppy had always thought if she was dating someone, and they had a Poppy, she might feel some type of way about it. 

But her and Nico were just friends.

Nico rounded the couch, sitting on the cushion beside Poppy, their knees knocking as he reached into her lap and took her shaking hands in his.

“Do you really think I’d stop talking to you just because someone asked me to?” Their eyes had met again, sadness brewing in the dark coffee colour surrounding his dilated pupils, and a glassy film coating her own. “Poppy, I would never.”

“I don’t know what to think, Nico, because you won’t tell me.”

“Because it doesn’t make sense! I try wrapping my head around it, try coming up with some kind of explanation, but nothing I say is going to change what I did to you, Poppy.”

Her question before had gotten her an honest response, had elicited something real and undeniable within him - he’d never stop talking to her because someone asked him to. So it was his own decision, subconscious or not. Maybe she could help dig further, she thought.

“Why did you kiss me?” She asked after a beat.

“I,” Nico pondered over it before rushing his answer, a wave of emotion flashing across his face before his eyes locked on hers, ready to let her in. “Because I wanted to.”

That was a start - a simple question, a straightforward answer. 

“Was that the first time that you wanted to?”

“No.”

Poppy could feel some semblance of confidence coming back. Closed questions, concrete answers, she could keep this up.

“When was the last time you wanted to kiss me?”

She could have asked the first - she sure as hell wanted to know it, but if he’d thought of being more the entire time they’d known each other, there was a lingering possibility there were many times - and they would be there until sunrise if they started from the beginning.

“Finnegan’s.” 

“The bar?”

“We went there when we came back after we crashed out of the playoffs, do you remember?”

She remembered.

It had only been a couple of days before Nico had left for his summer back home in Switzerland.

Their loss in Carolina had been devastating, the boys came back broken and defeated, and all just wanted to drown their sorrows before they broke for their off-season. Poppy had been out with Nia and Kelsey and a few other friends at another bar when Jack had responded to her instagram story, saying they’d be at the Irish pub that was a staple within the team, and she should come over and join them.

She had made her way over pretty late, wanting to make sure her friends were okay without her, and arrived when most of the boys were completely shit-faced, past the point of tears and moping and deep into a mass state of hysteria and loud jubilation for the successes along the way.

She had found Nico in a booth in the far corner of the bar, head slumped over the back, eyes seemingly tracing the cracks in the ceiling until she crawled into the bench behind him, leaned over with her elbows resting on either side of his head, and took up his entire view. 

“What’cha doin’?” She’d asked, lips twisting at the sight of his dizzy eyes trying to correct themselves to focus on her. 

He’d quickly given up, pressing his eyes closed to shut out the risk of nausea taking over, the outer corners crinkling, the sides of his nose scrunching and his eyelashes fanning a shadow over his cheekbones - her own eyes were level with his lips, so he couldn’t really hide the way they curved at the quick glimpse of her.

“Suffering,” he had muttered, squinting one eye open to catch a brief, upside down glance of her. Nico was never this down after a few drinks. He was giggly, he was loud, he was touchy and clumsy - he was never the hide away in the corner sad type. “Wanna join me?”

“Always.” She affirmed, making her way around to his side of the booth and sliding in beside him until her bare thigh pressed against the somewhat scratchy linen of the pants he wore. 

“I’m probably not the best company tonight,” He remained in the same position, neck craning so the base of his head could rest atop the back of the seat, and his eyes closed - giving Poppy the perfect opportunity to properly look him over.

The few moments they’d had together, alone, over the past few weeks, he’d been pent up, stressed, overworked and on the brink of eruption, so this was the first time in a long time she’d managed to catch him without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Only, that weight wasn’t so easy to shift.

She saw it in the bags under his eyes, in the unkempt playoff beard he was yet to shave off, in the stuttered way his chest rose and fell with his attempts at deep, calming breaths. 

As she watched him, the corner of her lip tucked between her teeth in contemplation, she knew there was nothing she could say to make him feel better about this. He just had to feel it out, process it in his own way without her interference - but she wanted to be there, at least.

And as much as she wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he did the best he could, and led his team through one of their strongest seasons in recent franchise history, she wanted to provide him comfort in the quiet, too.

“I don’t mind.”

And so, with little trepidation, she placed a hand on his chest, over his heart, and rested her head next to it, glancing up to see the push of a dimple forming on his cheek as his arm stretched around her and welcomed her into his warm embrace.

“You wanted to kiss me then?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Didn’t seem like the right time, though,” he followed up with an answer to a question she hadn’t even asked, yet. “I was leaving too soon and I didn’t want you to think I’d just kissed you because I was drunk and upset.”

Her eyes moved to his lips, a question for herself whirling around in her head. Would she have wanted him to kiss her then? What would have happened in the aftermath? Where would they be now? Would she have thought that? Would she have spent her summer stewing over what it meant, and how his lips had felt against hers?

Before she had much time to think it over, Nico continued, being spurred on by such a distinct memory that he was rolling towards the answer she had been waiting for, and she wasn’t going to stop him to try and decipher her own feelings.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you when I went home, thinking about wanting to kiss you, or not kissing you, and what it all would mean, and I kept trying to distract myself thinking I could just figure it all out when I came back here but then I met Talia, and I felt wrong for thinking about you when I had her.”

That had made sense. Nico was always a guy that would do the right thing. If he had a girlfriend, he wouldn’t think of the prospect of something with someone else, even if that someone was Poppy, and that something was a culmination of years of pent up feelings finally coming together to form something potentially wonderful.

She didn’t quite need or want to hear the rest. Didn’t want to hear how he’d gone looking for a distraction, and found just that. 

Nico was loyal, and for him to maintain that essence of himself, he had to ignore the possibility of Poppy. Some subconscious part within him saw her as a threat to the stability he had with the perfect girl from back home, and he boxed her away to make room for what could be with Talia.

It stung, but he was right. Neither of them could change what had already happened.

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

She’d nodded after only a second, barely even thinking about it.

Jack’s words from New Years Eve rang through her, suck it up and move on.

Nico had his reasons, she had her answers. He wasn’t bored of her, wasn’t tired of her or annoyed by her. He’d been so caught up by his unspoken, untranslated feelings for her that he twisted himself into untangle-able knots that were only just starting to loosen up enough to be picked apart.

“Could you maybe say it?”

“Yeah, I could.” she had said through trembling lips, the hurt in his voice burrowing through her eardrums, lodging itself in her own throat, and dripping slowly but surely into the depths of her chest. “I will.” She had to be more sure, needing to erase any doubt she had planted within him. “I do.”

“You do?”

He still held her hands in his from when he had sat down, palms warm and slightly perspirant from his tight grip around her knuckles.

“I forgive you.”

His mouth twitched into a shaky smile, his eyes catching the soft light and twinkling with emotion, and she definitely wanted to kiss him, then.

She had wondered if this is what he felt when he’d kissed her before, this burning need. Her fingers twitched in his hold, her heart thudded in her chest, and her lips parted in anticipation, until she could finally slam the breaks on her torpedoing thoughts.

“It’s just a lot to process, and I don’t really know how I feel.”

She had wished she could take it back as soon as the words left her mouth, and Nico’s features had folded as he took them in. He broke eye contact almost immediately, head dropping to look down at their hands until he released hers back into her lap. 

“I get it.” He uttered, forcing a smile as he glanced back up at her, briefly. “I sprung this on you out of nowhere, I’m s-,”

“Please don’t apologise,” she interrupted before he could go there, knowing it would send her brain into overdrive if he let even the thought of regret fester between them, “I’m glad you did. I don’t want you to be sorry about it.”

Relief washed over the both of them in a warm, steady stream as he nodded, leaning into the back of the couch, legs spreading as an elongated sigh wracked through his torso. 

He ran a hand through his hair, and Poppy’s eyes flickered to the flex of his fingers, the strain of his wrist, the flash of protruding veins where his sleeve had pulled up with the stretch of his movements. 

His eyes closed, and she took him in just like she had that night in Finnegan’s bar.

She’d had an urge then, a desire even, to provide comfort - to share his burdens, make him forget the pain he had just endured, wash it all away with encouraging words, gentle touches. A shoulder to cry on, two ears to listen, and, albeit she didn’t entirely know it at the time, a whole heart that was his for the taking.

And take it, he did, held it all summer, bent it all sorts of ways out of shape up until New Years Eve, and it was still in his hands. Smushed, dented, squeezed to within an inch of his life, her heart was his.

It was up to her now to figure out what she wanted him to do with it. 

“I made a promise to my mom about the date, Nico, I have to go.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, seemingly resigned to the fact he had maybe been a little too lost in the moment to make such a crazy demand of her. 

“And I think maybe we both need a little time to properly think about what is happening here.”

“Time?” He practically shot up, alarm in his eyes.

“We’ve barely been apart all week, Nico, I think that might be why we’re both so,” she struggled for the right word - pent up, emotional, strung out, “Intense.”

She had known she was emotional, overthinking to the point of ruin, but maybe he was too. Maybe that’s what had led to the kiss, to the outburst of sentiment. They were both in the depths of a pressure cooker of emotions, and some space might do them good to gain a little clarity.

Maybe with a little more time to think on it, to consider what he was admitting to, have a little breathing room, and act more on something concrete than a fleeting in-the-moment feeling, he might change his mind. He deserved the opportunity to do so, she wouldn’t hold it against him.

“How much time do you think you would need?”

“I’m driving up to my parent’s house on Friday, so I would have been away for most of the weekend anyway, maybe we check back in on Monday and see where our heads are at?”

“4 days,” he muttered as if he’d just counted them in his head. “I can do that.”

“Yeah?” He had nodded in response, and there was something like hope that lingered between them, sharing small smiles and gazing through glassy eyes. “You’ll be so busy you won’t even get the chance to miss me.”

She believed it to be true - Nico had his family over, would be spending the latter end of the day with them, and had 2 big home games in a row to worry about. Poppy would be the last thing on his mind.

If she had blinked in the moment, she might have missed the way his observation slipped to her lips, lingered there for a brief second, and glanced back up to flicker between her eyes again. “Not possible.”

“Poppy, have you suffered some kind of brain injury I don’t know about?” Nia’s voice rings through the speaker of the phone pressed to her ear, already supposedly-styled hair fanned out around her as she lays staring at the ceiling, willing herself to get up and go before she’s late.

No matter how much she doesn’t want to go on this date, her mother will kill her if she hears anything other than a glowing review. On time, preened to perfection, polite and sociable. 

“Maybe I hit my head in my sleep at some point,” she thinks out loud, glancing back to the sharp edges of her bedside table and wondering if she could have thudded into it in the night.

Surely she would have a scar or a bruise.

“You must have,” Nia agrees, “That’s the only logical explanation why you’d ever consider telling the guy you’ve been hung up on since you first met him that you need time to think about how you feel,”

“Ni,” Poppy groans, “I called you for advice, not a lecture.”

“If you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes, and you my friend, are a dumbass.”

“In my defence-,”

“Nope!” Poppy doesn’t know what Nia is doing on the other end, but she hears something clatter as if being slammed down on a table in protest, “There is no defence, you’re an idiot.”

“I didn’t know how I felt about it, Ni,” Poppy sighs, sitting up and catching sight of herself in the mirror. She doesn’t know why so much of her time tonight has been wasted trying to look so good when she doesn’t even want to. When she’d gone to visit her parents, her mother had practically given her a full blown rundown of the guy she was meeting.

Tucker Lyon, she can’t help to instinctively roll her eyes at just his name, works in investment grade finance for one of the Big 4 - she hadn’t cared enough to ask which one. His family are property people, her mom had said, and own enough Manhattan real estate to hold some serious power. Priscilla had met his mother years ago at some luncheon in the city, and apparently the two had been in cahoots since then to set their children up.

Poppy doesn’t want to be set up with some walking red flag, biting her tongue over a plate of food too small to satisfy her hunger while he mansplains stocks and shares to her.

She wants to be in whatever bar the guys are holed up in, tucked under Nico’s arm, side practically glued to his, sipping cocktails and celebrating him like he deserves to be celebrated.

But instead, she can admit, she has been a royal idiot.

“I still don’t know, it’s all come at me full force and I don’t understand my feelings.”

“Bullshit!” Nia scoffs, “You knew you were into him the second he first flashed those dimples your way.”

She isn’t entirely wrong.

Poppy had once harboured a slight crush on him. In the very early stages of their friendship. One small enough that when she realised it was completely one-sided - and she was being delusional to ever think his cute nickname for her and his insistence on spending time only with her was anything more than his attempt to make a friend - she could swallow it down until it was barely anything.

She trained her heart not to stutter when he approached her, told her brain to shut up when he flashed her one of those perfect, all consuming smiles, and could cross her arms to restrain her hands from wanting to hold his whenever they walked side by side.

She’d become so good at suppressing her feelings, she’d forgotten she had them.

She had forgotten all the times they had hung out alone over the years, never second guessing all the looks and the touches, the times he’d let her stay over if it got too late to go home alone, and the times he’d waltz into hers like he owned the place.

She’d forgotten when she had seen him with Talia, always claiming the feeling in her gut was one of loss and reminiscence, not envy and bitterness.

She’d forgotten when the Hughes brothers had helped her move a couple months ago, and Luke had questioned the amount of Nico he was helping to scatter throughout her apartment. Pictures on her bookshelf, pictures stuck to her fridge with souvenir magnets from Swiss gift shops, a couple hoodies, Devils branded shorts and big t-shirts of his he’d come across in the boxes. 

“I didn’t realise you and Cap were so close,” Luke had picked a frame out of one of the boxes, the picture of Nico and Poppy at the Halloween party inside, and waved it in her direction as she stood with her hands on her hips, figuring out if she wanted to alphabetise or colour code the books she was displaying. 

“Huh?” Poppy tilted her head towards the tall boy, watching as he shook his curls back into place and ran a hand through them. He’d worked up a bit of a sweat lugging her boxes upstairs, and now that everything was finally moved, Jack had gone to get them food, and Poppy and Luke were getting started on unpacking the easy stuff. She looked to the picture in hand, reaching over and taking it to get a closer look. “I guess we were, I don’t really know.” She wasn't a good enough actress to properly pull off the nonchalance she was aiming for.

“You don’t know?” Luke scoffed, rifling through other pictures in the box - all framed, mostly of her and Nico, some just the two of them, some of them in groups, but always side by side. Always grinning ear to ear. “You’ve got like a shrine in here, PJ,”

“It’s not a shrine,” she had argued, “You don’t keep pictures of your friends? Sounds kind of cold, if you ask me, Moosey.”

“I keep pictures on instagram and my phone like a normal person.” He chuckled.

“Generational gap, you kids are done for when the cloud goes down, you know. Physical media is forever.”

“You sound like my mom.” Luke jibed, and true to his nature, unable to stop himself before he inadvertently crossed a line, he asked with a weird wiggle of his eyebrows, “So, you wanna keep Nico forever, huh?”

“Shut up, Luke.” If Poppy had something soft enough, she would have thrown it at his head. The photo frame in hand seemed like overkill, and she didn’t want to hurt the kid, just make him stop. She didn’t much like talking about him, what they once had, what they once were. Even if he did have the wrong impression of what they were. It was upsetting, and she didn’t want to get upset - not in front of Luke. “You can keep those in the box.”

Luke had reached out for the frame in Poppy’s grasp, had watched as she hesitated giving it back, as she looked down and took in the huge smiles on her and Nico’s faces, and as she made the decision not to put this one back. Maybe she could phase it out, wait until she took a nicer, more meaningful picture with someone else before she replaced that one.

“I’ll keep this one out. I look cute.”

"Sure." His sarcasm was not entirely appreciated.

She had heard him chuckle to himself as she stood the frame on one of the shelves, placing it between a scented candle she had no intention of ever lighting and a small faux lavender plant. Not shrine-like at all.

She’d forgotten about any suppressed feelings until Nico kissed her.

Until he opened up Pandora’s box, releasing all her pent up emotions to roam freely, creating chaos and causing havoc through every corner of her entire existence. 

For the past 3 days, she’s thought about him with everything she has done. 

On Thursday afternoon, sat alone in her office, going over emails and wondering what he would be up to with his family. Was he happy, were they having fun, did he think about her for a second?

On Friday evening, driving alone on the long winding roads to her parent’s house and listening to the commentary for the game on the radio. Making it to the house in time for the 3rd period, and seeing the team celebrate. Was he well rested, excited for his family to watch him play at home, did he look up into the staff suite at the Rock and wish she was there cheering him on?

On Saturday, retreating to her childhood bedroom after another tense family dinner, snuggling up with the dogs on her bed as she watched the game. Was he beating himself up, had he gone straight home on his own after the loss, did he have the same urge to call her as much as she wanted to call him?

Did he, on any of those nights, lay awake thinking about that kiss?

About how right it had felt? How he had exerted his subtle dominance over her with such ease, large hands encompassing her face and holding her to his lips like his life depended on it?

Did he think about where it could have gone if she hadn’t shut him down? Where they could be if he’d made a move before?

She’s been thinking about it. Non-stop thinking about it.

Thinking about that kiss, and the possibility of others - the moment in the bar, all the other potential moments he had wanted to kiss her and hadn’t. The fact that maybe her feelings had never been one sided, and she’s wasted years pushing them down for nothing.

“Do you think I made a mistake not cancelling this date?” She asks her friend in a moment of vulnerability, her mind reeling with the possibility that she has already fucked up what could be.

“No.” Nia assures her, surprisingly. She’s been calling her an idiot all night, what does she mean, ‘no’? “I think he needs to sweat a little, let him think about you out tonight with another guy, and come tomorrow, his mind will be made up.”

“You don’t think we might be overestimating how much it bothers him?”

“Don’t make me call you a dumbass again, Pop.” Poppy can hear the rolling of her best friend’s eyes through the phone. “And send me a picture of your outfit before you leave.”

Nico

Nico has never been so physically uncomfortable in his life.

For a man who plays contact sport for a living - has played it for a good chunk of his existence, and has suffered countless knocks and injuries, slept in one too many uncomfortable positions in planes, buses, trains and even hotel beds, and who’s face has had more than enough encounters with the wrong end of a pair of skates - that is saying a lot.

But every inch of him, every fibre of his entire being, feels irritated in some way.

It’s a feeling like unforeseen static shocks passing over every surface of his skin. Like little bugs crawling all over him and he can’t swat them away. Like random strands of fine hairs that can’t be seen by the naked eye but God, can he feel them. He feels them everywhere.

From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, he feels something prickling, stinging, burning. 

Itchy.

Like a scratch he can’t reach in the very middle of his back.

And it’s not like he doesn’t know what it is.

He’s felt it ever since he left Poppy’s apartment in the early hours of Thursday morning. He had hardly slept, getting maybe 3 or 4 hours in before his alarm shrilled from where it charged on his nightstand. 

He has tried to use the same coping mechanisms that get him through his bouts of homesickness - where he closes his eyes and tries to provoke a memory for each sense.

He pictures the views from one of his many hikes, endless fields of green grass, crystal clear lakes, winding footpaths and mountains that stretch as far as the eye can see. He imagines gathering around a fondue table back in his favourite restaurant, and can smell the freshly baked bread, can taste the melt-in-the-mouth flavour once it’s been dipped in oozing, melted cheese. He can feel the softness of the freshly washed sheets back in his childhood bedroom and can hear the chorused chirps of the birds outside his window in the early mornings. 

It’s a technique that has helped ground him in the past, and he had thought that maybe if he applies the same logic, it will dull the ache in his fingertips that yearn to reach for his phone and text the girl who has asked him for space.

If he thinks hard enough, he can still taste the sweet but subtle vanilla of Poppy’s lip balm. He can smell the fresh-cotton essence of her laundry detergent, can hear the melodic sounds she had hummed into his lips, can feel the softness of her skin on the pads of his fingers, can see, clear as day, the dazed expression etched into her features like she had gotten caught up in the fantasy too.

If it wasn’t so easy for him to mentally transport himself back, he wouldn’t have been able to make it 4 days without seeing her. 

He had known it would be hard, but, thankfully, he thinks he got himself enough of a fix to make it to Monday.

He’d taken all he could with just one press of his lips to hers, had taken more of Poppy than he had ever dared to take before, and his subconscious was clinging onto it for dear life, hoping with everything in him she could decide to give him more.

4 days.

He has never known time to be so cruel. For it to drag out every minute like it was an hour.

If his life had a remote control, best believe he would be jamming the hell out of the fast forward button. 4x speed, skip to the next chapter, not wanting or needing to know what happened in the in-between.

He’s always thought himself to have patience - good things come to those who wait, after all - but this had become the ultimate test.

He had tried to immerse himself in whatever was going on each day, hoping they would pass quicker, less painfully, but it had been no use.

His birthday had passed by in a dizzying blur. He’d had a late morning skate, had come home to his family waiting for him, had gone to dinner with them, caught up over Italian food in one of his favourite spots by his apartment, and had driven his parents, his sister and her boyfriend back to their hotel with the promise of dedicating some time to them before the game on Friday.

Every single thing had reminded him of her.

Being at the Rock and wondering where in the building she might be, and if she was reminded of him with the littlest things. If she was thinking about him, what she was thinking about him. Seeing his family, imagining her place at the table as they all exchanged laughter and stories over pasta and wine. Thinking about what she might contribute to the conversation, how she would get along with his sister, how they’d gang up on him and poke fun, but she’d hold his hand under the table and squeeze to let him know it was all in good humour.

In the locker room after the win against the Blackhawks, trying his best to get involved in the celebrations but just wanting to call her, to hear that she had watched, and was proud of him and the team. And even after the loss against the Canucks, he wanted to hear the same. He wanted to go straight to her place, the passenger seat of his car painfully empty as he drove himself home in complete silence. 

And he had tried his best not to get too into his head about the whole space thing.

Poppy was right, after all. Things had gotten intense.

He had been intense - marching over to her place and kissing her out of nowhere. As right as it had felt, it was stupid. It was hotheaded and impulsive and it wasn’t considerate of her feelings.

But, God, he was so caught up on her he couldn’t help himself. He should have seen in the days they had spent together prior that they needed to speak more about everything before he threw himself at her like a neanderthal. 

He’d only considered what conclusion he had reached, and as much as his conversation with the guys on the plane gave him an idea of Poppy’s mindset, some words needed to be exchanged before he planted one straight on her. The whole thing could have gone so much better if he just knew how to communicate everything with her properly.

Even before the kiss. Before New Years, before Talia, before Summer - if he knew how to speak about his developing feelings for her, this whole mess could have been avoided.

He wouldn’t be sat alone in a bar, yet again, as his friends surround him, partaking in the celebrations that are supposed to revolve around him, wallowing in self pity.

He wouldn’t be thinking about Poppy, out in some fancy restaurant somewhere else in the city, with some stick-up-his-ass loser who doesn’t deserve a second of her time, and imagining her giving him one of those earth shattering smiles - the one where her the outside of her eyes crinkle in the corners, and every time he sees it he imagines the lines settling there as she ages, and it’s always a version of the two of them, old and grey, side by side, smiling together.

He imagines her taking him back to her apartment, curling up with him on the couch Nico helped her haul up the stairs after she had found it for crazy cheap off of some sketchy ad on Facebook marketplace. He sees her slowly replacing all those pictures she has of her and Nico with pictures of her and him, phasing him out of her space like she would eventually phase him out of his life.

He thinks about her taking him to her bedroom - the one he had yet to see in her new apartment, but imagines it’s just like her old one; way too many pillows and throws, a thick, plush duvet that looks like she’s climbing into a cloud, and a beat up stuffed toy her grandmother had given her when she was young. 

He doesn’t want to wish that Poppy is currently welcoming someone into her life that doesn’t suit her, but he can’t help himself.

He hopes this guy is late - and doesn’t even apologise for it. He hopes he orders off the menu for her, or criticises her choice of wine for not pairing with her choice of food like a complete snob. He hopes he’s awful to wait-staff. He hopes he’s type of guy who writes a suggestion on the tip line of his receipt instead of leaving a minimum of 20%. He hopes he chews with his mouth open, spits when he talks and scrapes his knife along the ceramic of his plate as he cuts his food, causing that toe curling sound that makes Poppy want to scream.

He hopes he doesn’t offer her his jacket, because she always refuses to take one out. He hopes he doesn’t think to give her a piggy back, because she always wears shoes out she knows she doesn’t want to walk in, but always wants to walk home if it’s nice out. He hopes he walks on the inside of the sidewalk, leaving her to the dangers of walking roadside, and walks too quick for her to keep up with little regard for how she likes to take her time on a night and stretch the evening out. 

He even hopes he smokes. Poppy hates smokers. And if, God forbid, they kiss, he’ll have smoker’s breath, and she won’t want to do it again. 

She won’t stand in front of him, eyes glazed over, lashes fluttering, brows furrowing, lips still pouting and fingers twitching to reach back out, yearning for more.

She won’t even kiss him back.

Not like she had kissed Nico. Not like she had clutched at his shirt like she wanted to hold him close to her forever. He wouldn’t get to hear that sweet, subdued sound she had made when his tongue had swiped tentatively at hers, or feel that slight pressure of when her lips had closed around it, sucking almost at the muscle before opening back up to allow for more of a taste.

No one else can get that.

No one else will savour it like Nico has, thinking about is for days on end, replaying the moment over and over until he has perfect recall of every small detail.

It’s probably a good thing she hasn’t shared much detail about this date, Nico thinks as he swirls the ice around his empty drink, sat right at the bar away from the sectioned-off area that Timo had rented out for the party.

If he knew more about it - about the who, about the where - he probably would be in a cab by now, knowing he was crossing a line but unable to do anything about it, his will outweighing any common courtesy just as it had a few nights ago. Or he would have spent the last few days in a google deep-dive, trying to figure out the kind of man her mother would approve of. Enough to set her up, at least - he doubts Priscilla Jensen entirely approves of anyone.

Nico finally makes eye contact with the bartender, and as she starts to make her way over, he feels like a divine intervention occurs - an arm falling onto the bar top beside his, a glimmer of metal flashing into his dark eyes - the reflection bouncing from a bracelet that is welded around the base of a slender hand.

“I’ll take another of these,” he lifts his glass when the bartender arrives, gesturing to the old fashioned he’d somehow landed on over beer tonight, “And whatever she’s having, please.”

 “Vodka diet coke, please,” a voice rings out from beside him, and once the bartender busies herself with the order, she asks, “Shouldn’t I be the one getting you a drink? I heard it’s your birthday,”

“Why should either of us pay when it’s going on a tab?” He chuckles, angling his body better to face her. 

“Ooh la-la, a tab,” Nia mocks, “Now I feel like I’m a part of an elite club!”

“I find it hard to believe you’ve never had your drinks put on someone else’s tab before.”

“Not the New Jersey Devils captain himself, it’s such an honour!” She raises a manicured hand and presses it to her chest, a playful smile etched into her features. 

“Did you come over here just to poke fun at me?” Nico asks, touching on the dynamic that has long been between the two of them. She mocks him, mostly all bark and no bite, he takes it on the chest, knowing she’s doing it from of her warped version of almost sibling-like love, and Poppy usually acts as the mostly-unnecessary mediator, dividing her attention between them both. 

“Of course I did,” she affirms, “You looked all mopey and miserable, how could I not?”

“How is me waiting for a drink ‘mopey’?”

“Uh, let me think,” she taps her finger to her chin, before lifting it to point at each feature she references, “The huge pout on your lips, your giant caterpillar eyebrows all slanted and frowny-,”

“Forget I asked,” he mutters, lifting his lips into a quick smile and thanking the girl behind the bar as she brings them their drinks. “Didn’t know you’d be out tonight,”

“I’ll be sure to send you an e-vite to my google calendar when I get home later.”

Nico’s throat tightens slightly at how similar Nia and Poppy are - always quick with a response, most of the time sarcastic, most of the time able to elicit a genuine laugh to rumble from the depths of his chest. “I see why you and Poppy are so close.”

“Hm,” she hums, making a show of checking her phone, “You barely made it two minutes, but it could be a new record.”

“A new record?”

“For how long you can go in conversation without mentioning her.”

“She’s your best friend, the one person we have in common, it’s normal for me to bring her up, Nia.” He reaches for his drink to take a gulp, hoping the ice might make his throat feel a little better.

He doesn’t even know why he’s denying his lack of willpower when it comes to Poppy - 2 minutes actually seems like quite the achievement when he thinks about how long he’s restrained himself from reaching out over the past 4 days. Nia approaching him like this has been the perfect excuse to think about her - to talk about her without feeling like he’s overstepping or assuming.

He could use this to his advantage.

“Is she a good kisser?”

Or not.

He chokes on his drink, thankful the liquid isn’t coming out of his nose with how much he hadn’t been expecting that question.

“She looks like she would be. I’ve always thought about it but there’s never been a right time to try it out. Maybe I should take a leaf outta your book and lay it on thick and fast when she least expects it.”

How he even thought he could gain advantage in this conversation is beyond belief. He’s out of his depth with Nia, as usual. She isn’t afraid to call him out - she never has been - and she’s the one person in the world Poppy would confide in. Of course she knows about the kiss.

“Is that what she said, I laid it on thick and fast,”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, lover boy.” She chuckles, picking up her cocktail and stepping away from him, “Thanks for the drink, Nico, try to enjoy the rest of your birthday party.”

“Wait!” He reaches out to stop her, not wanting to let a golden opportunity slip from his hands so easily. “You would have bought me a drink before, for my birthday?”

“I think you earn about 5 times my annual salary in a month, so probably not.”

“How about you answer a question for me?” He proposes, “As a gift.”

“I could,” she sighs, sitting down in the stool beside him, “But I heard you get touchy after gifts.”

He immediately regrets asking, but not enough to let her go. He’s come this far, and he has 4 days worth of questions he desperately needs answers to.

“Funny,” he gives a condescending smile, which clearly pleases her as she gives a genuine one back, lifting her spare hand to gesture for him to carry on. As if it’s that easy to narrow down all the things he wants to ask her.

One question. 

What did she say about the kiss? Did she like it? Would she do it again?

What did she say about him? About how she feels? About what she wants?

Where is she right now? What did she tell Nia about the date? About the who?

“The guy she’s out with,” he can’t even bring himself to say the D word, “Is he nice?”

The look she gives him is almost pitiful. In fact, there is no almost about it. She clearly thinks he’s pathetic, but it’s too late to retract the question now that it’s out there.

“I don’t think so.”

He doesn’t like the way his stomach turns at her answer.

He had wanted this, right? For him to be a gratuity-withholding, uncouth slob with bad breath. 

But the thought of her being out with someone that has the potential to hurt her, hurts him. His chest feels tight, his head feels muddled, and that everlasting itch returns to the tips of his fingers - the weight of his cellphone becoming that much heavier in his back pocket.

“I mean,” she carries on with a shrug and reaches for her own phone, “He was a no-show, so we’ll never actually know for sure.” She swipes at her phone until she brings up her message thread with Poppy, turning up the brightness to show Nico the picture she had asked her to send earlier. 

It’s a selfie taken in the overly tall mirror she had once made him pick up from Ikea, claiming it wouldn’t fit in her car and his was much bigger, and he doesn’t know why his first instinct is to scan the background just to confirm his earlier intuitions about her bedroom. Too many pillows, cloud-like duvet. He can’t see the stuffed toy, but he assumes it’s somewhere in there.

Poppy looks unbelievable. 

Her dress is short, like the one she had worn on New Years, fits snug around her waist and emphasises her curves in all the best ways. Her legs seem to go on for miles, adorned in knee high boots no doubt to provide some semblance of warmth. Her hair is pulled back, and she wears gold jewellery - rings, some small hoop earrings, and he’s only just able to stop his fingers reaching out to pinch at the screen because he can see the gemstone bracelet without the need to zoom in.

“Can’t be that nice if you’re standing up a girl that gorgeous, huh?” Nia asks, suggestively, leaning her chin into the palm of her spare hand as she looks up at Nico. “Some guys just don’t know how good they’ve got it.”

He figures he actually should be embarrassed about the relief that floods through him - washes over his entire demeanour, expression changing from defeated to victorious in a matter of mere seconds.

The crease that seems to have permanently formed between his brows smooths out, posture corrects itself, and his lips even almost turn up into a smile.

There’s a childish, territorial voice within him that wants to exclaim, Thank God! But he’s grateful that he’s able to mute it.

And, despite being privy to Nia’s games - despite knowing exactly what trap he is being lured into, what he’s about to fall for - he can’t help but suggest, “You should tell her to come out.” Because, despite knowing he had taken the bait, he can’t find it within himself to care. “I think I asked her one too many times to ask again.”

The one thing he had twisted himself into knots over since first hearing her utter the word date, hadn’t actually come to fruition.

There is no date. There is no uncouth slob.

There is Poppy, dressed as pretty as she is, practically waiting for someone to show her a good time. 

He can do that. He wants to do it - to be the someone that’s good to her.

“Oh, should I?” Nia asks, a knowing smirk causing her lips to twitch mischievously. She’s been playing him this whole time, and once again, he doesn’t care. “I don’t know, she seems resigned to spending the evening on her couch watching New Girl,” she sighs dramatically, clearly looking for incentive - once again, reminding him too much of the girl he longs for. “I don’t know if there’s much convincing to be done.”

“I’ll add you to the tab for the night.”

Rookie mistake, offering something up so quick.

“Is that all my efforts are worth to you, Nico, a few measly drinks?”

“What do you want?”

“I’m actually out with a client tonight,” she looks back somewhere toward the other side of the bar, Nico can’t even bring himself to follow her gaze. “Been trying to sign them to my agency for a while, and if I can fix this deal, I’m up for a promotion.”

“Nia,” he warns, not liking how long this story is becoming. Forget good things come to those who wait. He’s waited long enough. “What do you want?”

“They’re big Devils fans, I think a night with the team could really open them up to the benefits of working with me.”

“Bring them into our section.”

“And maybe some tickets, too.”

“Fine.”

Nia gives him a triumphant smile, “Great, I’ll let them know.” She salutes him as she stands back up, gathering her drink and phone between the fingers of one hand before backing away. “Nice doing business with you, Captain.”

“Aren’t you gonna text her?”

“Oh, Nico,” she jeers, using her free hand to grasp him by the chin. “Dear, sweet, naive Nico,” she gives his head a subtle shake before patting at his shoulder condescendingly, “She’s already on her way.”

If anyone asks, Nico isn’t admitting to keeping an eye on the door since Nia had made her way back over to her side of the bar, but he knows as soon as Poppy has arrived. He watches her make her way over to her friend, watches the two of them embrace and talk between themselves for a good minute. He watches and waits until her eyes meet his from across the crowded room, and it’s like everything else stops.

He’d somehow managed to immerse himself in the party spirit since he had found out she was coming, fitting back into the group, toasting along with them, engaging in conversations with his teammates, his mood vastly improved in comparison to earlier in the night - of which he’s sure Timo is relieved after his short-lived exile from Nico’s good graces — but everything fades to black when he sees her lips curve upwards from afar.

Someone is talking beside him - hopefully not to him, he thinks, he doesn’t remember being mid-discussion with anyone - but it’s just drowned out mumbling right now, and all he can do is tilt his head toward the doors that lead to the bathrooms, and wait for her to respond. When she nods and separates herself from Nia, he excuses himself from the group, edging out of their section and following her path, losing her a little in the thick crowd of people - the bar still packed from where they had played the Giants game earlier.

When he gets through the doors, he’s thankful no one else is lingering back there - no rowdy queue for the bathroom, no staff, no one but him and the girl who seems to be holding his heart like a hot potato, not knowing the best way to carry it without getting burned.

“Hi.” It’s a weak starter for a heavy conversation, but if he’s honest with himself, she’s taken his breath away.

The picture from before hadn’t done her justice. She’s a little worn into her look for the evening now, hair not so neat, skin a little shiny, lipstick faded - but this is exactly how he likes her, especially when he takes in the way her eyes gleam and her cheeks puff out with her smile.

He makes a conscious effort not to let his eyes drift directly to the smile - to her lips, which even the thought of them elicits such a vivid memory.

“Surprise!” she sings quietly, arms outstretched and hands shaking theatrically.

He steps toward her with his hands behind his back, fingers clasped together until he’s confident that his knuckles turn white, fighting the urge to curl his arm around her waist and pull her into him, needing to be closer. He watches intently as her eyes flick down to where his hands should be.

She backs into the wall behind her, not to escape his approach, but more to prepare herself for it - like she’s settling in and embracing it.

She isn’t running. She isn’t pushing.

She’s waiting.

“I’ve missed you.” Nico wastes no time in telling her the truth - telling her what she’s refused to believe every other time he’s said it, but he can tell with the tilting of her head and the rounding of her eyes that understanding has settled within her. She has no comeback, no it’s only been a few days, and he thinks she must have felt the drag of them in the same way.

“I’ve missed you, too.” 

Whatever anxiety has rooted itself deep inside him for the past 4 days dissipates almost immediately. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” He admits, without shame or reluctance. After Poppy had helped him overcome whatever had been censoring him before, there is no point now in holding back or beating around the bush. “You look so good, Mohn.”

A rush of confidence allows for him to close the gap, standing right before her as she leans against the wall, neck craning ever so slightly to look up at him. He still won’t touch, hands laying against the stone at either side of her hips, not daring yet to let even a sliver of his finger graze at her flesh.

“You look good, too.” She breathes, eyes glancing down to do an appreciative once over of his outfit, and he doesn’t miss the glint of pride cross through her eyes when she catches the glimpse of the gold that peaks out from the neck of his sweatshirt. 

“I’m sorry about your date.”

“Are you?” Her lips twist into a knowing smile. It’s an example of one of her many traits that he loves - she can detect his bullshit a mile off.

“Mmhm,” he nods, “I’m sorry a world exists where any man is stupid enough to stand you up, Poppy.”

“I’m the stupid one,” she argues, and he misses her gaze as soon as she takes it away, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment. “I should have listened to you and cancelled in the first place.”

“I was stupid to ask that.”

“Maybe we’re both stupid.”

“Definitely.” He probably shouldn’t be agreeing to her calling herself stupid, but it comes out before he can think too much on it. They’ve both wasted too much time. 

“Did you have a good birthday?” She asks, and a slight movement between them catches his eye, her fingers twisting together as if she’s withholding her touch, too.

“It’s better now.” He smiles fondly as she rolls her eyes. 

“How are your family?”

“They’re good.” He doesn’t want to go into too much detail about how shamefully miserable he has been over the past few days - doesn’t want to tell her how his mom had called him out on his lack of contribution to conversations, and he’d managed to pin it on the stress of the season. She still raises a brow at his insufficient answer, and he expands before she can tell him off. “Everyone but Luca made it out, my sister had to go back already for work, but my parents booked a trip to Halifax to visit the Phillips’, I lived with them when I played up there, they have a few friends to visit in Canada but they’ll drop back to see me again before they fly home.”

He feels the tickle of soft fingertips at the inside of his arm, slowly grazing down as he speaks, and as he watches Poppy, he thinks she must not realise she’s doing it - letting intuition take over as she’s distracted by the conversation. He lets her take the lead on initiating any touching, and it takes all the restraint he has left not to barge through the door she’s attempting to slowly eke open. She’s the only person in the world who could make him audibly hear the metaphorical creaking.

“Did they get to watch you win?”

He doesn’t even know why he finds himself grinning at the question, but the tone in which she asks it bears a hint of pride. She had watched the game on Friday.

“My dad was pretty much in the stands in full gear, everything but the pads and skates, and my mom was repping Foundation merch, she’s run off across the border with my beanie.” He likes the way her face lights up.

“I’ll get you another.” She raises her other hand to card her fingers through his hair, and, for once, he’s thankful not to be wearing any sort of hat. The soft scratch of her nails is soothing, and he just about manages to stop himself leaning into her touch and purring like a cat.

That would be embarrassing.

He feels outnumbered, both of her hands on him, and it feels unfair not to be touching her - so when his thumb extends itself on the wall just beside her hip and strokes at the soft fabric of her dress until it’s softly digging in, he watches intently for any hesitation before he lays a palm flat against her side.

It feels like things are progressing both torturously slow and overwhelmingly fast at the same time. His heart feels like it’s slamming into either side of his ribcage, and like nothing else occupies his chest, the sound of it echoing as if banging on the walls of a deep, empty cavern.

“Did I already tell you how much I missed you?” He honestly can’t remember, but he’ll tell her again if he needs to.

The hand that had run through his hair rests now on the side of his head, her thumb swiping softly at his cheek as she cups the side of his face, and before he can even make sense of what is happening, he’s being pulled forward. 

He bends to her advances with quick reflexes to avoid clashing, and their noses bump just before their lips meet.

Her chest rolls forward until it presses into his, and both his hands grab at her sides to pull her flush against him, legs tangling, hips pushing together, bodies touching everywhere possible all the way up to their mouths. 

He gives her all the control otherwise, allows her to determine the pace, responding to her every move and every touch with fervour and heat. She pulls at him, one hand grasping at his sweatshirt and the other cradling the side of his neck, and he quickly lifts one to stifle the blow to her head as she collides back with the wall, barely noticing the pain where his knuckles meet the stone.

Their tongues press together at the same time, and Nico doesn’t even realise his lack of patience got the better of him until their battle for dominance kicks off between their lips.

He can taste the same vanilla lip balm, can smell her signature coconut scent, can hear soft, subtle moans, can only see the back of his eyelids, not daring to open them, just wanting to feel. And he can feel everything. 

He feels the softness of her hair beneath the hand that is protecting her head from the discomfort of resting against the hard surface behind her, can feel the skirt of her dress bunching up in his grip, can feel her touch, fingertips dancing at the the base of his skull, thumb pressing into his jaw, her other hand making that same grabby gesture at the thick fabric covering his torso, squished between his heart and her chest, and he thinks he can feel the thump of her own heart on the other side.

He can feel her thigh pressed between his, the friction causing a heat to build deep in the pit of his stomach, swirling and whirling down, down, down until it culminates into the hard press of his hips into hers, and a rushed gasp combined with a guttural groan causes their lips to part.

They take deep breaths in unison, their chests bumping with every inhale, and he tries otherwise not to move.

He opens his eyes to find hers still closed, scrunched shut, even, and he tries not to be selfish - ignores the need to get a good look at her, to have this version of her ingrained to his memory too - and attempts to coax her back to him.

“Poppy,” he sounds just about as breathless as he feels. “Are you good?”

She hums in response, a subtle nod given, but he needs to hear her say it, and he tells her as much with a quick squeeze to her hip. Her eyes flutter open, gleaming and bright, framed by thick lashes and crinkling slightly at the outer corners as her lips turn up into a mischievous grin. “Better now.”

His chest feels like it’s about to burst open, like there’s a bear within him that is going to break out and pull her into its clutches, dragging her back safe to her home in his heart.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks, because he has to - he doesn’t care if it’s rude to leave his own birthday party, doesn’t care that he’s been the most ungrateful person in the world all night.

He’ll make it up to Timo, get him something big the next birthday of his that rolls around. Throw him a party. Or he’ll take care of the tab the next time they’re out. Maybe even let him have the window seat the next time they’re on the same plane home. 

Except, he won’t be doing any of that. He’ll be taking the reins on booking flights and putting Timo straight into economy, smack-bang in the middle of a row surrounded by a family of 5, screaming kids, arguing parents, the back of his seat being kicked the whole 8 hours to Zurich.

Because, just as Poppy’s swollen lips part to accept his advances - as her chin lifts, about to drop with a big affirmative nod, and he’s about to get everything he’s wanted the past 4 days and beyond - the doors to the back swing open, and his 6 foot teammate stumbles through, arms outstretched as he notices the two of them practically intertwined.

“Here you are!” He exclaims, voice booming in comparison to the soft breathy tones he and Poppy had been previously speaking in. “Poppy, you made it!”

“Hi Timo,” Nico feels her retreat, feels her legs brush past his and back to her own space, her hand on his chest now the only part of her that touches him, and he follows her lead, taking his hands back and trying not to clench his jaw or his fists as she converses with the man who was once his friend. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright, should be back on the ice in a couple weeks.” Timo had suffered an injury in one of their games at the back end of December, and hasn’t been fit to travel, and Nico finds an unspeakably bitter part of himself wishing it was something to do with Timo’s legs that were injured so he couldn’t have interrupted their moment. “Glad you’re here, this one has been miserable all night.”

He can’t be this oblivious, Nico thinks. Why is he still here? Why isn’t he retreating back to the bar and leaving the two of them to whatever he had clearly barged in on.

And when Nico looks back to his teammate, his long time friend, he sees the oh-so-evident glint of mischief and disobedience in his grey-blue eyes.

He is getting his own back.

Nico knows he was petulant to blame Timo for Poppy not being invited, knows there was nothing he could have done to change her going out on a date, or them not speaking for months while he was with Talia.

He doesn’t need him to enact his revenge to see he was wrong to ignore his texts, or to mope around at the party he had put so much effort into. 

He tries to give him a pleading look to stop whatever he is trying to do, but it’s no use.

“The guys will want to see you, Poppy, Jack’s beating himself up about his shoulder, could use a friendly face.”

“Oh,” Poppy casts a glance back to Nico, and he gives her a nod, implying that she go see to her friend. “I’ll go find him.” 

He can wait. He’s waited 4 days. He’s waited years, in fact.

And, after that kiss, he knows he won’t have to wait much longer. 

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Nico mutters in their shared native language once he’s watched Poppy disappear through the doors to the bar, with a quick glance back and an apologetic smile before they closed. 

“Just saving my brooding captain from being arrested for public indecency,” Timo shrugs with a shit-eating grin as he passes Nico and heads toward the bathrooms further down the hall. “You’re welcome!” He calls back in English, raising his hands and giving a patronising thumbs up.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face and wishing it was Poppy’s in its place.

It’s just an hour, maybe two, in the presence of his friends. Drinks, music, everyone in a good mood for the most part. It’s hardly like he’s walking out into a press conference after a 5 game losing streak and about to have all the blame placed upon his shoulders. 

It’s a party. 

Poppy’s here.

He can do this.

He can wait.

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 or if I forgot you I'm a muppet tbh)

[carefreecoffee]

Flufftober Day 18: Protecting w/ Kirishima Eijirou

Word count: 1.9k, Gender-Neutral reader

You were walking in the bustling city, people chatting, cars zooming and the sound of your favorite playlist ringing throughout your earbuds. Your commute home from work had been casual; that was until the bustling crowds of people started walking faster past unusually. You stop in your tracks curiously, taking out a headphone before feeling the ground beneath you rumb;e. You look back in shock as your eyes lock onto a giant figure breaking through the streets haphazardly– your only instinct is to run with the crowd.

Kirishima was on patrol as he heard the multiple screams from down the street. Rushing down the sidewalk, running through the crowd of panicking civilians, he saw a large, hulking villain destroying buildings by just swinging his arms around aimlessly. His heart sank as he watched the panic unfold. He had to do something to stop the chaos and protect the people. He quickly assessed the situation and made a quick decision. Leaping into the nearest alleyway, seeking cover behind a large dumpster. He needed a better vantage point to survey the area and plan his next move.

As you glanced behind yourself, you saw the giant creature approaching rapidly into your direction. Your eyes widen as your legs take on a mind of their own, passing every alley and block with as much fervor as you could summon. Not even the sudden loss of your headphones that had become lost in the rubble could break you out of your stance.

Kirishima catches a glimpse of you as you run past, your eyes filled with pure fear. He knows he has to act fast to help you. You yelp as you feel the rumbling within the ground coming closer, feeling your legs starting to give out.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he rushes out from behind the dumpster and activates his quirk, hardening his entire body. He charges towards the giant creature, determined to save the citizen. He braces himself for impact as he smashes into the creature's side, attempting to knock it off balance. The force of the collision created  a shockwave, causing debris to fly in every direction. The creature lumbers unsteadily, giving him a momentary opening. With a swift motion, He grabs you, pulling you to safety, away from the imminent danger. He scans you with a concerned expression, hoping to reassure you and make sure you’re alright. Your eyes widen at the frantic movements as you feel someone’s arms wrap around you, taking you away from the scene. Your grip strengthens on the person out of fear. 

You screw your eyes shut until you are placed down uncharacteristically gently given the situation. You begin to open them wider than ever, seeing none other than the chivalrous hero; Red Riot. As you come to a halt, he turns, giving you a reassuring smile. "Hey, you're safe now, don't worry. Just breathe, okay?" He says, attempting to calm you down. 

Your mouth hangs agape as you nod frantically. The shock is hitting you hard now that you’re still. As you mouth an ‘Okay’ another crash reverberates the ground. "I'm going to go deal with that villain. Stay here. You're safe. You won't get hurt, okay?" He reassures you, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder.

He turns away, rushing back into the scene of battle, feeling a surge of determination to protect the innocent and neutralize the threat. The villain was still rampaging, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. It seemed that the creature was impervious to physical attacks, making it even more challenging to take down. Minutes felt like hours until the fight seemed to die down. You heard slight chatter and could see a faint trail of smoke coming in from the crash of the debris. You sat there as instructed, knees to your chest as your arms wrapped protectively around them.

Kirishima catches his breath and takes a second to examine the scene of the battle. In the midst of it, he noticed a familiar figure hidden away within the confines of the dark alleyway. He approached you, a friendly smile on his face. "Hey, you okay there?" He asked, concerned for your well-being.

You look up at him, your breathing ragged but slower than before,  “Y-yes, i'm okay” He crouches down and checks you methodically for any injuries. "That's good to hear," he says, relieved that you’re okay. "You looked pretty shaken up earlier. Do you need to catch your breath? How about we sit for a bit?" he suggested, gesturing to an empty space nearby. 

You nod, sitting together in silence for a few moments, catching your breaths and coming down from the adrenaline of the moment. It's comforting in a way. He glanced over at you, taking in your features in the dim light of the alleyway. 

"You know, you were pretty brave back there. Running through the chaos like that, it takes a lot of courage." He complimented, breaking the silence between you.

“Hm? Oh, thank you I guess…I mean I've never been in such a position before y'know?” You chuckle half-heartedly, still shaken up.

 "Hey, it's okay to be scared in a situation like that. It's natural." He says, giving you a reassuring nod. He decides to lighten the mood and get your mind off of things, "So, what's your name? I never got the chance to properly introduce myself." He asks with a smile. You looked at him, mouth agape until you could muster up an answer, “Y/n, my name is Y/n.” 

"Hey Yuno, my name is Kirishima. It's great to meet you," he says with a friendly tone, extending his hand towards you for a handshake. "I'm glad I was able to help you out there." You take his hand. “Nice to meet you Kirishima, even if it wasn't the um... best situation.” He chuckle’s, trying to ease some of the tension. "Yeah, I guess we really met under some crazy circumstances, huh? But hey, at least we're both safe now, right?" He offers a warm smile.

You nod, “All thanks to you and the other pros. I really do appreciate it.” In the midst of the conversation you hear ambulance wails along with the red and blue lights approaching. As emergency personnel start arriving at the scene, Kirshima knows that it's time for him to move on. He stood up, offering his hand to help you up. "Looks like the authorities are here to take care of things now. How about I walk you home? You still look a bit shaken up, and I wouldn't feel right leaving you to fend for yourself just yet." He asks with a reassuring grin.

You nod, a bit taken aback but knowing it was a part of his duty. “That would actually be really nice. T-thank you Red Riot!” You bow slightly before making your way towards the paramedics. He watches as you're pulled away for a statement, waiting for you to finish up and join him again, ready to escort you to safety. As the two of you walked, he tried to make idle chit chat, hoping to ease any lingering uneasiness you might’ve been feeling. "So, what do you do? Are you a student or do you work nearby?" He ask’s, curious to know more about his unexpected companion. 

“Ah, I'm a receptionist at the law firm down the street. I was actually just on my way home before all of that” His eyes light up curiously, "Law firm, huh? That sounds pretty cool. Do you enjoy it?" 

You shrug. “It is what it is, receptionism isn't the most friendly occupation but I learned how to handle it over time.” You smile and return the favor, “How'd you get into heroism?”

"As for me," He says, a bright grin spreading across his face, "I've always been fascinated by the idea of being a hero, fighting against villains, and helping people. It's something that just resonated with me, you know?" He explained, his voice laced with passion. "And as time went on, I learned more about myself, improved my skills, and worked really hard to become stronger. Here I am now, living my dream as a hero!"

You chuckled at this enthusiasm. “I get what you mean and I think you were meant for it, it's nice to see people following their passions y'know?” The two of you talk a bit more until you had reached the front of your place. “Thank you again, Kirishima” You bow, giving him the most appreciation you could in such a short amount of time. “I can’t thank you enough for the safety you kept me in today!” 

He smiles warmly at your action, waving his arms. "No thanks needed, Y/n. I was just doing what any friendly hero would do!" He examined you for a moment. "You know, Y/n, you surprised me out there today. Despite being scared, you still kept your head high and found the courage to keep going. That takes real strength. It was an honor to have been able to help you." You lifted your head up, feeling warmth rise within your face from the compliment from such a notable hero. Your eyes met his ruby ones as a smile plastered on your face, “Well, I appreciate you walking me home nonetheless, it means a lot.” 

"Of course, it was my pleasure," He replied, returning your smile. "It's getting pretty late, so why don't you get some rest? You've been through a lot today." He suggested, concerned for your well-being. He takes a few steps back, preparing to head back to the agency and get some rest himself. But before he left, he couldn’t help but feel a little bold. I turned back to you with a mischievous grin. "Hey, before we go our separate ways, can I ask for your number? I'd really like to stay in touch."

Before you could fully unlock your door, you looked back at him pleasantly surprised “M-my number?” The words were still echoing throughout your mind. 

He chuckles, realizing he might have overstepped. "Ah, my bad, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "It's just, I really enjoyed our conversation, and I thought it would be nice to keep in touch. But if you're not comfortable with that, no worries. Sorry if I made you feel weird." he says, giving you an apologetic smile.

“No no!” You begin to walk back to where he was standing, “It just caught me off guard is all!” You send him a smile of reassurance. He relaxed a bit, glad to clear up the misunderstanding. "Alright, sounds good! Here, let's exchange numbers." He takes out his phone as you exchange contact info, each punching in the other's number. Once it's done, he puts away his phone and gives you a grateful nod. "Alright, got it. It was nice meeting you, Y/n. And if you ever need anything or even just want to chat, you know how to reach me now," He offers a friendly wave as he turns to make his way back to the agency.

You wave back happily, retreating into your home, your heart pounding as you texted your friends about everything that had happened that night excitedly– albeit the danger you were put in to get there. 

As Kirishima walks back to the agency, he couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the encounter with you. It's always nice to meet new people and possibly make new friends, especially someone as kind as you. He thinks about your determination and resilience during the incident, appreciating your courage. He feels a strange flutter of butterflies in his stomach, catching him off guard. 

'Wait a minute... Was that... a crush?'

[isaacswhy]

mine

isaacwhy x gn!reader (sfw) summary: you're out shopping with your boyfriend, isaac, when you find some initial necklaces. just in time for your six-month anniversary, you buy two, one for him and one for you. requested?: no, inspired by @ficblogmoni's!

It was quite unexpected, but in this relationship you'd had going with Isaac, you'd become quite the shopaholic. It was mostly spurred on by the fact that Isaac loved to shower you in gifts and take you shopping for whatever you wanted. Either way, you'd been shopping more times in the last few months than you had in years.

You'd gotten together with Isaac around six months ago, being friends with him for some time beforehand. When you'd finally gotten the guts to ask him out, he was overjoyed. After a few dates, he'd confessed that he'd been totally head over heels and trying to plan how to ask you out. Seeing him so flustered about it was simply the most endearing thing in the world.

Once you were officially a couple, then came the onslaught of gifts. Every day, your drink order from the local coffee shop was waiting for you once you were awake. Your favorite meals were ordered on DoorDash the second you mentioned you were having a craving. You hardly had to raise a finger, and your needs were being met.

You didn't quite have his YouTube income, but you tried to return the favor. Little gifts and trinkets from his favorite shows and souvenirs from wherever you'd go. He'd always blush bright, grinning like an idiot and telling you it wasn't necessary. All of your gifts would end up somewhere in his room or office, and he'd amassed quite the collection.

Your six month anniversary was right around the corner, and you thought it was the perfect time to buy something. He loved the sentimentality of anniversaries and you needed to show him you did, too. So, you popped over to his room with a smile on your face and asked to go out for a little shopping trip.

"Yeah! Let's do it!" Isaac was laid out on his bed, but on top of his blankets and almost fully dressed.

As he rolled out of bed and began to slip his shoes on, you walked up to him and began to mess with his hair. "Your curls are growing out, you know."

"Do you think I need to get them cut?" He looked up at you, and the way he looked like a puppy nearly melted you into the carpet.

You laughed and shook your head. "No, no, I like them a little longer. But, if you want to cut it, that's fine."

He shrugged as he finished tying his shoes, standing up and sufficiently towering over you. "Eh, I like it a little longer. Looks cooler that way, anyways."

"I'm just sad your mega Christian conservative family never taught you how to take care of them," You snickered, "Learning from Nick of all people.."

"Oh, shut up," He lightly smacked your arm as the two of you began to walk to his door, "You ready to go?"

You nodded and flashed a thumbs-up, "Ready."

Walking through the house didn't take long, but you did have to dodge a flying slipper from Blake, who was on the couch watching anime. You flipped him off as Isaac lightly scolded him for it, but you made it to the front door in one piece.

The two of you hopped into Isaac's car. You got settled into the passenger seat as Isaac turned on the car, pulling out of the driveway. You turned on your music, at Isaac's request, as you made the commute to the shopping mall area.

Pulling into the parking lot, you and Isaac got out of the car and you walked with your hand in his towards the first store. His eyes flitted around, and you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're faceless, Isaac. They don't know."

"I know, it's just a little weird sometimes," He laments, "Even if there's almost no chance anybody could recognize me, I still get.. anxious about it. Doesn't help I'm so tall."

"They won't," You looked at him with a smile, "Plus, there's a lot of tall dudes. None as hot as you, though."

Isaac shook his head and snickered, but seemed a little more relaxed as you walked in the store together. It was more of a beauty store, and you broke away from Isaac to look at the necklaces. Isaac headed towards the watches.

As you sifted through the necklaces, your eye caught onto one section. It was a bunch of beautiful silver necklaces with initials on them. Your eyes darted back over to Isaac to make sure he wasn't looking as you slipped two into your hand. You found a store employee who was happy enough to box them up in small gift boxes.

You walked back over after making sure there wasn't anything else you wanted, seeing Isaac with a watch in his hand. It was beautiful, slightly minimalist but also with enough flare that you know Isaac would like. He looked to you with a smile. "You think it would look good?"

"I think it's great," You looked a little closer, a little in awe of its quality, "Thing looks expensive. But, you'd look good in it."

"I think so, too," Isaac nodded as he called over a worker and had them box one up for him. His eyes looked to the boxes in your hands with an intrigued look on his face. "What do you have there?"

"Nothing you get to know about yet," You said with a small grin.

He shook his head as he brought the boxes over to the register, paying for them and handing your boxes back to you. "Fine. Keep secrets from me, then. What's next? Do you watch Chainsaw Man with Tanner or something?"

"Worse," You laughed, "It's a watch party. Tanner, Nick, Blake, Larry, we even have Grunk on discord with us. We're literally only leaving you out."

"How dare you.." He scoffed, but his feigned anger turned into a big smile when he saw a store, "Wait, can we go get some shoes?"

"You have an addiction, Isaac."

You were quite lucky, by the time you had left the shoe store Isaac only had three new pairs. One of which he had picked out for you, and bought it before you had a chance to tell him no. That was one of the downsides of him knowing your measurements for everything: he bought shit for you even if you wanted to tell him no. Of course, if you genuinely hated something, he wouldn't.

Only a few stores later, the two of you called it a day on the shopping. You had a few new outfit components, one pair of shoes from Isaac, and the necklaces. They'd make for a great anniversary present.

You did your best to act as normally as you could as you got everything out of the car and into the house. It was a lot easier when Tanner came over and pestered the two of you, asking if you had gotten anything for him. He was dismayed when you had to let him down.

The rest of the night went smoothly, chilling in Isaac's room watching anime, cuddled up under the covers. He eventually had to work on a video, but told you that he had his schedule completely cleared for the next day. He never would miss an anniversary.

Unfortunately, you couldn't find the willpower to stay up until he came back to bed. Although you fell asleep alone, you woke up to being held by Isaac when the morning sun was fully up. Isaac smiled at you as you turned to him, resting you head on his chest.

"Happy anniversary, baby," You heard him say in his morning voice.

You looked up at him, doing your damnedest to keep your eyes open. "Happy anniversary, Isaac."

He sat up just slightly so he could look down and see your face, and you saw his tired smile. "Do you want to grab breakfast? I could pick up your drink order and get us some food."

"Usually I'd stay home, but," You stretched out your arms and sat up fully, "I've got something for us to wear out."

He raised a brow, a small smirk on his lips. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Not yet," You pulled yourself from his bed and shook your head, "Get dressed."

He nodded, following you out of bed and over to his dresser. "Any specific dress code for picking up some breakfast?"

"For our six-month anniversary? If I get to pick, put on one of your slutty tank tops."

"They're not slutty!"

"Sure."

He shook his head, finding a black tank top and pulling it on. He slipped into a pair of light-gray, if not off-white, sweatpants. You got dressed for the casual occasion, making some looks over at your boyfriend and admiring the way his arms looked in the tank top. They were drool worthy.

Once the two of you were ready to leave, Isaac looked to you expectantly. "Well then, I'm all dressed. What are you adding to the outfit?"

You grinned. "Well.." You reached into the bedside table and pulled out the two boxes you had picked up the day before. They held the necklaces you bought, but you quickly peeked in them to figure out which one was yours before holding your hand out with his necklace box in it. "Find out."

He picked the box out of your hand, which looked even tinier in his giant palm. He slowly opened the box and his expression was generally unreadable for a few seconds before a big smile spread across his face. "Is this.."

"My initial," You finished his sentence as you put on the "I" necklace, "And I got one with yours."

He took a few more seconds in shocked silence before he slowly put it on, fidgeting with the letter a bit. "Was this what you bought us yesterday?"

"Yeah," You flushed a little, "I wanted to be able to tell the world you're mine, and I'm yours. A little anniversary gift."

Isaac approached you slowly, the smile never leaving his face. "You're mine, and I'm yours," He repeated, "I like that."

"I know you do," You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him in close, "That's why I love you."

He grinned as he leaned down to you, pressing a kiss to your lips softly. "I love you too. Happy anniversary, baby."

You buried your face in his chest, taking in his scent. "Can we get out of here? I'm hungry as hell."

He snickered as he took your hand, leading you out of the room just as he did the day before. Your fingers laced together, feeling warm and content in his presence. "Of course. Anything for you."

[gretahayes]

literally nobody fucking asked but here's my idea for a core four repair shop au.

they're young adults, like 21, and are out to forge their own paths as heroes and stuff. they're back together as a team—the four of them, again and always—and go to a quiet town with minimal, if any, other hero activity. tim's a city boy, but he makes the commute to the nearest city to get resources and stuff, and they've got a zeta back to gotham since everyone else can fly/has superspeed to get back to their cities.

they buy a nice house tucked away, get it soundproofed, and decide to renovate it themselves despite tim quite literally begging them to let him pay for someone else to do it.

while making a mess of the renovation, they find a quaint little shop for sale and are enamored by it, so they (read; Tim) buy it, and set up a shop, because hey, why not, and they put their plentiful skills together and make a repair shop.

(it's got no name, because they couldn't think of one, but they call it the fixing shop. locals call it that too, and when anyone needs something fixed, they take it to the fixing shop)

what does it repair? well, everything.

that's not a joke. if you broke anything, there's at least one of them that can fix it. from cars to metalwork to tech to dolls, if it's fixable, they can fix it.

the shop's a mismatch of several different workstations, an interior designer's worst nightmare, but it's cosy. homey.

there's general prices in their heads but like none of them are really doing this for the money? so it varies based on circumstances and how hard the job is.

if a kid comes in crying with a broken toy, cassie fixes it and accepts whatever the kid can pay for payment—if nothing, she does it for free. some snobby asshole comes in wanting to fix the expensive car they crashed while drunk driving and kon fixes it, sure, but the bill comes up to close to a million. and kon's sort of the only one that can fix it this well? so the person just pays and leaves, fuming. a distressed college kid comes in with a cracked to hell laptop but they can't afford another one and tim makes it good as new—the several, several parts he replaced make sure of that, like seriously it's barely the same laptop anymore—for ten bucks. he refuses to be paid any more. a nervous teenager comes in with a ripped dress, bart stitches it expertly well—and expertly fast—and charges fifty cents.

locals wonder about their scars, wonder about where their families are, wonder about the visitors they get, wonder how they have so many skills, but the core four just smile and say "trade secret"

if you come at the right time, kon's pulling a fresh batch of pastries or cakes or various other sweets from the oven and he hands them out. they're ma's recipe, made with love and all, so of course they're delicious.

cassie's finishing university locally, her mom wanted her to, bart and kon do it online, so their working hours are a bit odd. but they did accelerated classes and busted their asses to graduate a year early, so they're really proud of themselves.

tim finds ways to occupy himself.

it may or may not be a hotspot for supernatural activity, but they made friends with the creatures so it's fine

when cissie needs a break she comes to stay with them and everyone's happy. sometimes anita carves out time to spend in their peaceful little safe haven, and greta comes and goes when she has the time.

it's almost sickeningly domestic. sometimes after a fight they stumble home bleeding and sweaty and hurt, but happy.

[alpydk]

A long and personal post about my recent struggles.

So I've been pretty publically dramatic the last few days. Mental health being what it is. Grief slapped me in the face last week and then lingered around because even over a year, I've not really faced any of it, so that's not helped at all.

I have for a while been stuck in this limbo of too sick to function, too healthy for help, and combined with being a parent and money troubles; I have no choice but to look for work. This means a medical system that says I'm fine and interactions with a job centre that doesn't understand and wants to place me wherever they can. Not to mention constant rejections and a realisation that I'm pretty much worthless in an employment sense.

The job centre requested a meeting with me, but their office is a 30 minute drive from my home or, more often than not, a two-hour bus trip. That's nothing, you think to yourself. But what you don't realise is over the last few years, I've been slowly becoming more and more anxious when it comes to any form of travel. It started with flying, then long car journeys of a few hours, then buses... Now I struggle even 10 minutes in a car without bordering on panic.

On Monday, I self medicated (with anti anxiety pills given for flying in the past, without anyone's knowledge) and figured I'd push through things as I always did. It ended up with my partner witnessing a bad panic attack for the first time as I had him pull over so I could break down completely, wishing I could have my old life back and be the person I used to be, someone who used to travel to other countries at random, someone who used to commute over 3 hours to a job via bus, train, and even a ferry. I made the meeting questioning if life was even worth living, let alone thinking about any employment.

I've booked to go to Germany in November, as you all know, and I have to get there. It is my goal to get there, to meet Tim and just say thank you to him, but honestly, I'm terrified. I started my meds yesterday after hours of even deliberating over them. What about the side effects? What if they don't work? What if they make me worse? But I had to do it because trying to get better is the biggest thank you I can give to those who have reached out to me recently and been a support I don't really have in my life.

The comfort I've got from especially @auroraesmeraldarose and @judasiskariot, not to mention others who've just been there, has meant so much to me. To an overwhelming degree. The cameo yesterday still has me sobbing because it's like she was psychic. I was sitting alone with my AI bot, basically begging for it to say those words. I even tried writing my own comfort fic only to delete it. I never expected... and now I'm fucking crying again. Just fucking hell.

Anyway, I don't write comfort because, pathetically, it's not something I've had any experience with... but maybe it'll come now, thanks to the beautiful, amazing people I've had the luck of meeting in this community.

So that was my update on everything going on. A reason for the posts the way they've been, a reason for if I suddenly vanish over the next few days or worse, come back with some deaddove levels of writing that nobody wants to see. Yeah... Thanks to anyone who's stuck around and I'll try to be better. Just give me time.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Maybe is a little out of topic, but I’ve been thinking about why they (H&M) didn’t move to New York o Washington DC. Same as the Danish.

make sense if you want to influence in politics, or working with ONGs, etc.

I don’t know how much cost a house there, but I’m feeling that is less expensive than California… well, maybe I’m wrong.

but, why not NY or DC?

Because Meghan wanted to be a Hollywood star.

Hollywood stars don't live in New York. (They have second homes in New York, and there were rumors for awhile that they were planning to move to New York.)

Hollywood stars don't live in DC either. They just visit here. The politicians' egos are too big for Hollywood people to compete with. DC isn't a glamorous city the way New York City and LA might be considered. Also the wealthy people don't live in DC. The wealthy people (i.e. Meghan's crowd) Loudoun County, in northern Virginia, about 45 minutes outside of DC and they're also conservative, so Meghan wouldn't mesh there well anyway. (If you've ever flown through Washington Dulles International Airport, that's Loudoun County.)

A-List Hollywood celebs who get involved in politics never move here. They're a FIFO (fly in fly out) crowd that appears for inaugurations, state dinners, White House receptions, and congressional testimonies only.

As for cheap...in the list of most expensive cities in the US:

New York City, New York

Los Angeles, California

San Francisco, California

Honolulu, Hawaii

Washington, DC

Everywhere is expensive these days.

And as someone who works in DC but doesn't live there, the rule here is: house, car, or time. If you put your money into your house, you live around DC and use local transit to get to work (the money being what you pay in rent/mortgage and cost of living). If you put your money into your car, then you live in the DC surburbs and drive to work (the money being what you pay in tolls and gas). If you invest your time, then you live in the exurbs and commute to work via regional transit (you keep your money but you lose time and convenience). I don't know if it's like that in LA or NYC - I imagine there's a similar triad of tradeoffs but I'm not sure if it's discussed there like it is here.