#i hope this is a set up for a life with luca series

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[notjustjavierpena]

Ofrenda

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Happy Day of the Dead to all of my followers! I hope you’ll take this time to reminisce about the loved ones that you have lost, and smile when you think of them. I thought of my mom the whole time while writing this, and it makes me sad to know that I live in a country where we view death so gloomily when life should be celebrated. I have written this with utmost respect for the Mexican tradition, trying to do endless amounts of research. I have also written this with endless gratitude to be able to express my love for Javier and his family as well as my own mother at the same time. We never get enough time together, so this beautiful holiday is so heartwarming. Hope you like it ❤️!

Summary: You make an altar with your family for Javier’s mother during Día de Los Muertos.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18, depictions of grief, loss of a (grand)parent, family dynamics, so much love in this little family, domestic bliss, non-explicit descriptions of sex, love confessions

Word count: 3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60151243

Ofrenda

You are in the kitchen, cutting the stems of marigolds on an angle into the sink. The scent of the flowers is citrusy and slightly spicy, complimenting the lemon cookies that are in the oven and nearly done. Beside the sink lies several bare stems too because Lucas is holding a bowl of their petals in his small hands. 

He shows it to Inés, “You need to take a handful.”

“But I want cookies,” she only looks down into the bowl of orange for a moment before her attention turns to the oven, her little hands reaching out until you manage to stop her. She makes a noise of complaint but the mood of the room makes her dial down on how much she wants to fuss about it.

“The cookies are not for us!” Her brother replies with a serious look in his eye, clearly feeling authoritative in the task at hand, “They’re for Abuela (Grandma).”

“I’m sure you can have a few of them. She won’t mind,” Javier declares with a chuckle as he enters the kitchen too. His presence makes you smile to yourself, another burst of citrus filling the room as you cut yet another collection of flowers. You’ve filled almost two vases with them, have chosen the ones decorated with your favorite patterns, and fluffed them to look like two balls of sunshine. 

“But she needs them. If she doesn’t get them, she doesn’t know where to go,” Lucas insists with a pout when his father crouches down between the two of them. He gives a look of concern as if he is the only one taking this seriously. You look over your shoulder and feel a flash of pride at how sensitive a boy you have made, but you don’t intervene because you know Javier has the situation under control. 

“Sí, mijo (yes, my son),” he places a hand on the back of his son’s head, pulling him in to kiss his hair, “They’re for her but I am sure she’ll be happy to see you enjoy them too. She liked sharing with whom she loved.”

“Cookies for grandma and Inés,” Inés says proudly as if she finally understands the importance of the baked goods. Lucas’ expression eases a little as he stares at his baby sister’s longing but then he says her name. 

When she whips her head around, he shakes the bowl of flower petals, showing them to her again. You can see how much Javier loves how he is taking this to heart. 

“Just a little handful, okay?” Lucas encourages. 

Inés’ little fingers dig into the petals, bringing up a much larger fistful of the bright orange marigolds than intended. She stares at them with wide eyes, enchanted by the strong color. Her little mouth falls open with a quiet pretty and she nods seriously. Lucas nudges her with his elbow, directing her back to the task, “Come on, we gotta put them on the ofrenda (altar) so Abuela knows we remember her.”

They exit the kitchen and make their way to the small altar you’ve set up in the living room. You check the timer on the oven but there’s still eight minutes to go, so you and Javier take a vase of flowers each and carry them to the table that’s been draped with a bright, woven cloth, and adorned with pictures, candles, and memories of Javier’s mother. 

As you set down the vase of marigolds, you spot the tiny figurine that you have come to know so well too; a figurine of La Virgen de Guadalupe. She stands by the picture of Javier’s mother, face tipping towards her as a silent protector. The photograph of her is from when she was young enough to be just a few years out of high school, smiling widely with her dark hair tied back like you have seen so many times in other photos. She looks so much like Javier and how you remember her from the very first photo you saw of her, the one that you sneakily glanced at back at Don Chucho’s ranch on Javier’s desk in his teenage room. The one that the figurine stood guard over. That was before you knew what kind of life awaited with her son but you’re sure it was when you realized what kind of husband he would be. 

Javier sets down his vase as well, his eyes lingering on the photo of his mother for a moment before he busies himself with adjusting the flower arrangement, testing out a few angles. You touch his shoulder in silent support and smile gently at him. It earns you a little smile in return, one that seems full of gratitude and love. 

“You okay?” You mouth. 

Javier nods. He finally lets go of the vase and at the same time, a deep breath of air, suddenly satisfied with his work because his heart feels lighter. Not long after, he leans in to kiss you briefly on the lips, eager to make you giggle as he steals another peck while you complain about being covered in specks of flour and sap from the flowers. It’s messy, you say. He thinks you’re perfect. 

As you draw away from each other, Inés and Lucas scrunch up their faces and crinkle their noses at the display of affection. However, even so, you can see the tiny smiles hidden behind the mock outrage. They stand by a little impatiently as they watch you smooch, a drizzle of orange petals trailing Inés due to her getting distracted and forgetting they’re still in her hand. 

“Inés!” Lucas has the same exasperated look on his face as earlier when he notices the mess. You said earlier that it would be Inés’ first year of joining in on creating the altar and understanding its purpose, and Lucas has taken his role in it very seriously. He is clearly feeling the responsibility of teaching her the tradition right now. 

“Sorry,” she drags out the word, a guilty expression on her face, and tries to bend down to scoop some of the petals into her palm again, only seeming to increase the mess. 

Lucas puts down the bowl of petals to help her, coming off as slightly distressed. He has furrowed his brow as he concentrates, acting as if the entire success of this moment is relying on him, “Abuela can only visit if you put the flowers on the table!” 

“Luke,” you crouch down after exchanging a look with Javier. You soothe your son by running a hand up and down his back, “Abuela is always with you. This is just to do something extra special for her.” 

“But what if she can’t find her way?” Lucas asks with concern on his face as he puts down the bowl and starts gathering marigold petals, “We have to make it special.”

“Mamá’s right, we are making it special, mijo, because of all the care you’re putting into this. That’s what’ll guide her here tonight, not whether the cempasúchiles (marigolds) are perfectly placed on the table,” Javier reassures gently and crouches down beside the two of you, Inés mirroring him immediately. All four of you start picking up the remaining petals from the floor and Lucas visibly relaxes a little more, reassured that things might not be catastrophic after all. 

Your husband takes Inés’ small hands in his and guides her through the process of gently scattering the flowers across the table, their vibrant color standing out beautifully against the crisp white cloth. The orange and gold complement the papel picado on the wall behind the altar too. 

“Flowers for Abuela,” Inés scans the sight before her and then claps her hands with a big grin. She beams with pride, so much so that even Lucas finds her joy infectious and smiles as well. Inés points her little fingers to her work, “Making it special!”

“She’ll see those flowers and know you put them there for her,” Javier explains, still crouching on the floor next to Inés. She leans into him. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her even closer so he can plant a little kiss on her cheek, tickling her with his mustache until she giggles.

“Did Abuela like flowers, too?” Lucas asks and moves onto his father’s other side, resulting in him also getting dragged closer. From the look on Lucas’ face, you can see that it has been his plan all along

“She loved them,” Javier answers with a reminiscing smile, “You remember how many flowers there are in Abuelo's (Grandpa) garden, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Both Lucas and Inés say right after each other.

“Abuela planted them and she loved them just as much as she loved lemon cookies,” their dad recalls fondly and there’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “Well, almost just as much.”

At the same time, the timer in the kitchen dings. Inés whips her head in your direction expectantly and you laugh softly as she itches to tell you to get a move on, 

“I’ll get the cookies,” you say to make Inés sparkle with glee. You give Javier’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before slipping back into the kitchen. You can hear your children chatting softly with their father as they stay by the altar.

In the kitchen, you take the cookies out and place them on a cooling rack, enjoying the familiar scent of sugar and butter that wafts through the kitchen. The cookies are still very hot to the touch but you carefully transfer a bunch of them to a plate. 

“Here we go,” you say as you reenter the living room. 

“And she had this laugh… Oh, when you really got her going, it would echo through the whole house,” Javier shares. 

“Like Mom,” Lucas says and follows you with his eyes.

“Much like Mom, yeah,” Javier agrees and you smile shyly as all eyes land on you. They have shifted to sit down on the floor in front of the altar, moments ago staring up at the colorful display while Javier told stories of his mother. Now, the three of them have stopped talking when they see you place the lemon cookies on the table, anticipation on their faces. 

“Hola, esposa (hello, wife),” Javier says with a soft smile, the kind that makes your cheeks warm because you know he loves you. 

“There are plenty of Abuela’s favorites left in the kitchen,” you say as you take four cookies from the plate and make sure the rest of them look presentable. Then you kneel down next to your family, handing each of them a still-warm cookie, “Careful, they’re still hot.”

With the altar complete, the four of you sit together on the floor, a quietness settling over you. Between the picture of your mother-in-law, the lit candles flicker and cast soft, dancing shadows. The combined scent of the marigolds and the lemon treats makes the room smell lemony and spicy, and small decorative butterflies catch the eye between the paper banners. 

Inés nibbles on her cookie, looking deep in thought, so you reach out to brush her hair out of her face. Her soft voice finally asks, “Do you miss her, Papá?”

Javier stops right as he is about to take another bite of his cookie. He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, his expression unreadable for a moment. It seems like a gut punch but one that he has learned to expect from having small children. He thinks for a second then nods. When he speaks, his eyes are shiny as they prick with tears and you can hear a slight trembling in his voice, “I do, baby. I miss her every day.”

Inés looks shocked at having caused her father to cry. She puts her cookie down on the floor and you quickly scoop it up. She crawls to sit in front of him on her knees, wiping away a tear that has made its way down his cheek after reluctantly escaping the corner of his eye, “Are you sad?”

“Yes, sometimes,” he breathes and looks down, sniffs, “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to say sorry,” Lucas argues, looking to you for reassurance. 

You nod and move to sit closer to Javier, pulling him into an embrace which he returns by holding your arm. You look at your son while resting your chin on top of Javier’s head, “Go on, Luke.”

Lucas takes a moment to find the right words, visibly skimming through the lessons you have taught him to find the one that applies here. He joins the hug, “Mom says that it's okay to feel sad when we miss someone because it means you really love them… It makes me feel good to miss Mom when I am at school because then I remember her.”

Inés, who has been quietly observing, joins as well. She rests her head against his shoulder, "We love you, Papá."

“I love you too,” he says and the words seem to give him a little courage, “Of course, it makes me sad, mija (my daughter). But having you, your brother, and Mamá here. It helps.”

“I know I say it all the time but I wish I could have met her,” you chime in and kiss the top of his head repeatedly, trying to keep it together yourself, “She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“Inés and I wish that too!” Lucas adds, “We can do this every year!”

“Make cookies!” Inés exclaims excitedly. They both eventually pull back after remembering the baked goods. Returning to lemon cookies laid out near the ofrenda, they chew happily. You snicker at Inés' excuses to eat anything sugary and squeeze Javier tightly before drawing back too.

“I think she’d like that,” Javier sighs with a little smile, taking in the picturesque view of his family.

A few more minutes pass and you gently remind your children of the time, “Alright, it’s getting late. Let’s say goodnight to Daddy and Abuela.”

They exchange hugs and kisses with their father, and then - while she is perched on your hip - you hold Inés near the altar. Both of your kids lay their palms on the table, talking gently.

“Goodnight, Abuela,” Inés says and pats the cloth.

“We love you,” Lucas adds tenderly.

They follow you upstairs to brush their teeth, wash up, and get into their pajamas. You finish bedtime routines with much more hugs and kisses, tucking the both of them in and thanking them for a nice day. Inés still has questions about her grandmother but you tell her that it’ll need to wait for tomorrow. When she seems restless, you trace your finger over her face until she dozes off. 

When both kids are asleep, you return downstairs dressed in your own sleepwear. You find that Javier has cleaned the kitchen and is sitting on the couch in the living room. He glances at the ofrenda out of the corner of his eye, looking thoughtful and melancholic. You can see how much Inés resembles him in the evening light. 

You silently go to sit down beside him, holding his hand between the two of you. 

"Thank you for today," he says softly, leaned back into the sofa and his head turned towards you, "For helping the kids understand."

“You are so wonderful with them,” you reply with a gentle smile, "They love her because you love her, and because she's a part of who you are."

“Still, I couldn’t do this without you, mi vida (my life),” he stresses and inches closer, slowly removing the gap between the two of you. You lean in and rest your forehead against his, a sigh of relief escaping him at being so close to you, “You make everything better.”

You don’t respond with words. Instead, you close the remaining distance between you and your husband, kissing him lovingly in the glow of the altar and the moonlight shining in through the window. 

Yet Javier seems to have more in mind when he reaches up to cradle your cheek with his large hand. He rubs his thumb along your cheekbone, eager as he deepens the kiss. It earns him a chuckle from you as you draw back slightly.

“Not in front of your mother,” you whisper to tease playfully. 

“She’d probably tell me to make sure I’m treating you right,” he laughs quietly, thumb still caressing your face, “Keeping you happy.”

“Then you are succeeding,” you tell him with sincerity, keeping all the playfulness he has ignited at bay to show love instead. He responds by getting up from his seat and pulling you by your hand, making you giggle girlishly as he brings you to blow out the candles for the night while whispering in your ear. 

Then he leads you upstairs and makes love to you, slowly and passionately. It’s all long, slow kisses and quiet gasps as you arch your back when he touches you to orgasm. He knows you inside and out, what you need, and what you feel. You’d like to say that it’s the same the other way around, that you know him just as deeply. 

In the afterglow, you rest your head on his chest and feel his hand caressing your hair. His heartbeat is slow, his breathing almost steady again. You look up at him and feel so much affection that your head swims. An idea pops into your head in the beautiful clarity that follows being with him like this, “Tomorrow we could go to the cemetery if you like. We could take your dad too and get him to bring some flowers from his garden.” 

“I’d like that,” he replies, his fingers playing with and brushing your hair to the side absentmindedly, “Pop would appreciate that. It’s been a while since we all went together during Día de Muertos. Yeah, let’s do that.”

“That’s settled then,” you kiss his chest.

“Fuck, I love you, esposita (my little wife),” he says happily, absolutely in disbelief at your perfection. 

“I love you too,” you respond with a shy grin.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[jolalibrary]

18. calming peach

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter eighteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 4.2k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. too idiots who clearly want to have a future together. an: we're so close to the end and i'm crying.

prev chapter | series masterlist

read on ao3

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You’d never consider setting an alarm an hour early for anyone else, silencing it with a groan and stretch, leg bending out like a lazy, sleepy starfish until it meets him.

He who is waiting, palm sliding over your thigh, up to your waist, gently tickling your stomach until you wiggle. Frankie’s breath grazes your neck as he sighs, pressing each syllable to your skin, Morning.

Sometimes when you wake next to him, you stretch out and he comes to your side; others you fold over onto his, and occasionally you meet in the middle, leg between his, rousing to the sounds of neighbours, heartbeats, birds, or silence.

But like clockwork, always after a moment, your lips meet his in a tender kiss, soft and layered with a smile before growing needier, the only time his movements aren't slick and coordinated.

“Shower?”

He hums against your mouth, tracing the band of your sleep shorts.

Soon enough, the hour is stolen by cuddles and whispers before a shared shower washes away lingering sleep. Hisses blend with steam until you're both towelling off and slipping into clothes.

“Do you think you’ll be gone all day?” you ask, pouring fruit into your yogurt, handing him the bowl as he sips his coffee.

“Not sure—could be. You’re staying here, right?” You nod and grin, chewing a piece of fruit. “Good. I like knowing I’m coming home to you.”

His words spread warmth through you, a blaze of happiness. You stare at him for a moment before asking, “Is that so?”

Placing his elbow on the table, he traces his jaw as he stares. “Yeah. That okay?”

Shrugging, fighting a smirk. “Not the worst thing I’ve been told.”

“What you working on today? ” he says, pinching a piece from your bowl—ignoring the chopped-up, untouched yoghurt ones left for him. “Still those graphics?”

Nodding, you motion to stab him with your fork when he tries again. “Get your own, Morales. Stop wanting mine.”

“Can never stop wanting you.”

Narrowing your eyes, you watch him grab a piece from the free bowl, smirking as he chews.

“I made you a lunch, by the way.”

Chewing and smirking, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip. “Like a lunch lunch or—?”

“A lunch in a brown bag—with maybe a love note in there.”

His tongue pokes his cheek as he smirks. “Yeah?”

You nod, pointing at the fridge. He moves quickly, opening the brown bag, rustling through it before pausing and turning fully.

“You made me lunch.”

“I did.”

You might have ruined me for lunches from now on.

Ah, this is why I didn’t make you them before—wanted you to fall in love with me for me, and not my excellent packed lunch. You hating what you have today?

It’s not hitting the spot.

Did you make it yourself or grab it on the way?

Grabbed it?

Well, there’s why. It isn’t made with love.

I did like the fact I got a note in mine the other day.

Special treatment. Hope you didn’t throw it away.

Don’t laugh, but it’s in my wallet.

Aw Butterscotch, you loveeeee me.

If you make Luca a packed lunch, I think he’ll make you stay forever.

Well, I’m not going anywhere. If that’s okay?

I meant living with us, but good to know that we’re on the same boat about being a forever kind of thing.

I don’t make lunches for just anyone.

Because of the risk of them falling in love with you?

It’s a blessing and a curse, Morales.

Placing the platter down, a breeze blows the tablecloth on the newly painted and restored garden furniture Frankie had surprised you with.

The temperature warm, birds chirping as you check and recheck the various paint shades ready on the paper plates—the canvas’ already set up on their stands as he waits, resting his chin on his palm.

“Ready?”

Scrunching your nose, you sigh. “I think so?”

“What if I can’t paint you how I see you?”

Kissing the top of his head, feeling his head tilt up as you press another to his forehead, to his nose. “Oh, I’ll cry if I look like a monster.”

His laugh ripples out as you press your mouth to his, feeling one of his hands skate around your middle, squeezing.

A scroll on your phone one night had led the two of you to purchase a vase from Harold’s small homeware section, filling it with a bunch of different date ideas. Some cheap, at home, some further afield that required more planning.

Last week’s had been backyard camping. The tent had been big enough for all three of you, fairy lights strung on the inside as Luca’s s’mores (an insistence on them from both you and him) had accompanied well with Frankie’s reading of Luca’s ghost story. Which was basically one of his books with a ghost on the cover.

Today’s, on a rare free day off, had you both back outside and ready to paint. Thirty minutes on Frankie’s phone, a set of paint shades that would definitely make it difficult to capture the beauty of his eyes and an array of nibbles that smelt too good to keep avoiding.

As you sit, both grabbing a brush in hand, you glance over at him and nod as he begins the timer, his focus already deep on his canvas. He looks up, catching your eye and offering a smile that’s familiar, all but warm.

“You know,” he says, dipping his brush into a bright blue, “this might be my favourite date yet.”

You grin, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the sun. “Because you’re getting to paint something other than a dinosaur?”

He nods, eyes twinkling. “I do paint a good dinosaur.”

“You do. Very talented.”

Laughter continues as you begin with his outline, the conversation flowing as you try to capture his nose, his smile—the crinkle of his eyes. By the time the alarm goes off, you're almost happy. Dropping your paintbrush, hands up as you admire for a moment before picking yours up to show him.

“You’re going to be blown away.”

“I’m ready, baby.”

Turning yours first, his brows raise, leaning forward, slightly squinting. “I'm getting the idea that you like my nose...”

Smirking, slowly lowering yours back to the stand. “Oh, I like your nose, Butterscotch.”

Laughing, he then turns his and what you see takes your breath away. His painting of you, beautiful but also absolutely hilarious, has your smile cutting up into your cheek, teeth showing before a laugh rumbles out. It high-pitched, scratching your throat as it forces it out—tears pricking at your eyes, as he slowly lowers it.

“See? I told you I couldn’t paint you how I see you.”

You laugh, blinking back tears, heart full. “Frankie, you drew me as a dinosaur.”

He cracks then, mirroring you, laughing. “I wouldn’t run from you.”

Shaking your head, wiping another tear from your eye you snort. “I’d trample on you.”

“I’d let you.”

Wanted you to know that a certain person is wondering if he can watch cartoons and eat ice cubes with you. Aw, how’s the little man feeling? He’s still got a temp, but it’s less than yesterday and he’s managing to keep toast down. I’ve rang Harold already, thought he might have been okay today but. Does Harold need help?

You don’t even think, question.

The offer had been on your tongue on the day Frankie had called from the car to tell you he needed to pick Luca up. Explanation interspersed with hissing at traffic and grumbling, as you conjured the image of him tugging on his hair as he hurried his way to the school.

Frankie had said it would be fine when you’d offered before—it’ll be one day, that’s it. Now it was day three, and medication from the family medicine doctor as Luca battled an ear infection that had him not even wanting to talk dinosaurs.

There’s a delivery, but he says he’ll call his nephew.

Dialling his contact and pressing the phone to your ear, you drain the last parts of your coffee, tidying away the opened letters on your countertop as it rings, and rings, and—

“Call him and tell him I’m on my way.”

Frankie laughs, mumbling a hello as you hear him clanging a pan and something else. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I haven’t got much on—and even if I just accept it for him, let him tell me where he wants it, then it’s sorted.”

“You sure? This… you don’t have to do this.”

Laughing, grabbing a t-shirt from your drawer, before pulling out a pair of older jeans. “You kidding me right? I get to hang out with Harry—hear his puns first-hand? I’m more excited than he’ll be.”

“Rainy…”

Your mouth opens, letting out a heavy exhale before you stare at yourself in the mirror. Seeing the smile on your face from his words, finding yourself unable to tear yourself away from it for once. Liking it, the look of joy on your face, the one he etches just from his voice.

“Rainy?”

“It’ll be good for me—think I need to get out of the office, my house.”

There’s a silence, just for a moment. “You okay?”

Muttering an uh-huh back to him as you place him on loudspeaker, dragging the t-shirt over your head before he says your name.

“Just another rough day with a person who is using me as a punching bag. Woke up to an email, but… it’s fine, it’s really fine.”

“I hate that you keep having them.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me too. I feel like I brave it up and get rid of one and two grow in its place.”

Frankie exhales, his breath sliding down the phone, “Can I do anything?”

“Well, if you don’t mind me being fake Frankie, I’d love to go help Harold out—it’ll be good for me. Feel like… I’m good at something.”

“Rainy.”

“I know,” you say, finger-tracing a pattern on your bedsheets, “I know. But… just how I feel.”

“You’re good at lots of things.”

“Like?”

He snorts, loudly. “Making me laugh.”

“You laughed at a meme for ten minutes the other day about a dog’s tongue poking out.”

“It was hilarious.”

Sitting yourself down, back lying on your made bed, you run a hand down your face. “I’m just a little tired, I think. Usually, it wouldn’t bother me this much.” Frankie makes a noise in agreement, the back of your wrist resting on your forehead. “Truthfully, I want to see if Harold would be impressed by my puns.”

Frankie laughs, more clanging heard under it. “I’ll call him—but only if you promise to let me order you food for when you’re done.”

“Oh. Not worried I’ll get whatever Luca has?”

He snorts, and you can imagine the roll of his eyes even down the phone. “Unless you think you can catch an ear infection, I think you’ll be good.”

Smiling, slowly pulling yourself up to a sitting position, a pang of worry knocks through you—threatens to shake things. “Harold won’t mind, will he… I know you said he runs things differently.”

“I think he’s been wanting to replace me with you since you wandered in that day—he’ll be hoping it becomes permanent.”

Are you doing okay?

Yeah! It’s been fine, most are on palettes. Did spot a large order of butterscotch paint—that for you?

Haha, no. It’s actually been picking up in popularity.

It’s you modelling it on your page.

Shh, no it isn’t.

Baby, I love you—but I saw your latest video. From when you helped Benny, if I wasn’t already getting the chance to be in the sheets with you, I’d be thinking it.

It wasn’t that hot.

You really, really grossly misunderstand how hot you are, Francisco. Your arms for one.

You’re making me blush.

How the turn tables turn. Me, in your apron, you at home being flirted with.

Now I’m picturing you in my apron.

Yeah?

Don’t tell me what’s under it, let me fantasise.

Should I bring it to yours later?

Yeah. Yeah, do that.

There’s something about the noise of fight night.

It is both thrilling and anxiety-inducing as Frankie leads you in, his palm firmly on your back, guiding and easing you in. You reach a hand back to touch his wrist, a comforting ritual you’ve developed since that first time.

Your eyes scan and search for the others, a routine that brings a sense of normalcy to these events. Feet slowing, almost coming to a stop as you see Will wave, drink in hand, pointing at it as you nod back to Frankie and guide him through the growing crowd.

The music is louder tonight, the air tinged with more restlessness as you move, slide, and push your way through until you reach the rope.

“VIP, are we?” you call out, wrapping your arm around Will’s neck in a hug.

“Only the best.”

You step aside as the rope is reattached, letting Frankie and Will greet each other while you wave at the others. Out of the corner of your eye, you see all the slaps on the back, Frankie’s fingers cupping the back of his friend's head as he grins, nods, and talks right into his ear.

Then, there’s an arm around your middle, a familiar warm breath on your ear. “You good, baby?”

“I am.”

His lips press a tender kiss to the side of your head before you follow Will to sit down. As you settle in, you listen to Will telling Frankie that Benny is in the back and how he’s really stepped up over the last few days. You find yourself distracted, your tongue chasing the straw in your drink, until the conversation turns to yoga. Will mentions that you think it’s been quite good for Benny to shut off, and you give Frankie a look, mouthing, ‘Told you,’ to your boyfriend.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Will says suddenly, shouting over the music. “How did it go showing him the—”

Involuntary, your elbow slams into his side mid-sip. Your eyes widen as it forces a cough to smother the other words, staring boldly, almost coldly, right into Will’s face.

“I haven’t had a chance to show Benny the video,” you say, curtly, sharply. “It was very bright in the helicopter.”

You hope the lie is good enough, solid enough. You also hope Will picks up on it. Notice the distress in your eyes as Frankie, who is hanging onto your side and you can feel is darting his eyes from you to his friend and back again.

It takes a second, eyes narrowing, your stomach knotting as you fear the surprise you’ve been planning for Frankie is about to unravel.

“Ah, alright. Well, it would be good to see when it’s ready.”

Nodding, you lean into Frankie’s side, watching his eyes smooth out, relief washing over you as the tension dissipates. “Hey, so how does this night go? Is he the main fight?”

Shaking his head, Frankie adjusts his hold on his drink as he slings his arm around your neck, beginning to explain things as you shoot a smile at Will, managing to catch, quickly, the mouthed apology as you wink and let Frankie explain what tonight is for.

Your phone vibrates on the side, glancing at it as you help Luca roll out a small pizza circle from the dough you made last night.

“Rainy, can you helps me with my hat?”

Fingers adjusting his chef hat further down his head, a thing you hadn’t been sure if he would like until you saw his face light up when you pulled it out with its matching apron.

We should be done in about half an hour. And then I can come inside? You will be greeted at the side door by our mini-waiter who will be happy to show you to your seat. You breaking child working laws, Rainy? He had a work permit I swear.

Stepping back from him, you turn the oven on as you mentally tick off another thing, before scanning over the recipe that you have printed out.

It’s splattered in the sauce you’ve already made—and slightly damp from grabbing Luca's water earlier.

I think you’re lying. I think you grossly misunderstand how seriously we take things at Dino-Moralesaurus Diner. Excellent name though. I can’t take all the credit, your son is a genius.

At the sound of a knock, you help Luca down from the cooking stool Frankie had made him as he runs off excitedly screaming. It’s even harder not to grin at the sound of his boots coming off, as he comments nice hat, chef to Luca as you continue rolling out the dough.

You’re aware you’re covered in flour, that the side is a mess of sauce stains and random half-chopped ingredients.

“What’s this?”

Luca, now hatless, fulfils his duty as a waiter, offering the chalkboard to him as he explains, in the most adorable voice, that the special is pizza, the main is pizza and the dessert is—

“Rainy, what’s the dessert again?”

“Ice cream.”

“’Tis ice cream, Daddy.”

Lifting your head from chopping toppings, you catch his eye and exchange a knowing smile before Luca leads him to the already set table, clinking plates and silverware as he clambers up onto the chair to pour him a glass of lake water.

“Now, tell me, are the pizzas dino shaped?”

“Hmm, lets me ask the chefs. Chef Rainy?”

“Yes, Waiter Luca-saurus.”

You can’t fight the smile that spreads as you announce that unfortunately, tonight's dishes won’t even be fully round, never mind dinosaur-shaped.

By the time you’ve rolled out the dough and just about to begin spreading tomato sauce, Luca decides that there needs to be more dinos on the table. Freeing Frankie from sitting at the table and allowing him to join you.

“Chef Rainy, would you like some help with the toppings?"

“Only because you’re nice to look at,” you say, watching him roll up his sleeves as he moves to stand beside you.

You hand him a spatula for the sauce while you sprinkle cheese. Frankie insists on creating a ‘masterpiece’ with a mix of all the toppings, while you opt for a simpler choice, sprinkling it with fresh basil and tomatoes.

“By the way, Luca’s is store-bought. Thought poisoning your child would be hard for me to live down.”

Together, you lean against the counter as Luca runs back in, little feet slapping against the tiles as more dinosaurs begin filling up the table. Frankie goes into dad mode as he asks if he’s washed his hands before he’s running off again.

It’s barely a few minutes, but the timer goes off. Springing into action, removing Luca’s pizza from the oven—seeing the cheese golden, bubbling, filling the kitchen with a rich, cheesy aroma before you place it down and throw both yours and Frankie’s in.

You call out to Luca, who’s been eagerly waiting in the living room. “Luca-saurus! Your pizza’s ready!”

Luca comes running in, eyes wide with excitement as he climbs onto his chair at the table and you slice it up into smaller pieces and place it down.

“Mmm, this is so good!” he exclaims, his cheeks puffed out like a little chipmunk.

As Luca continues to enjoy his pizza, you and Frankie take a moment to savour the anticipation of your own creations baking in the oven. The timer goes off again, and you carefully remove the pizzas, setting them down on the counter.

“They look amazing,” Frankie says, admiring the crispy edges and perfectly melted cheese.

Taking your first bite, you’re hit with a burst of flavour, the freshness of the basil and the tang of the tomato sauce mingling perfectly with the gooey mozzarella. You share a look with Frankie, who gives you a thumbs-up, his mouth too full to speak.

“How did you like your homemade pizza?” you ask Luca, smiling at his enthusiastic nodding.

“It’s the best pizza ever!” he declares, reaching for another slice.

Frankie leans over, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he says softly.

You squeeze his hand, before moving to the sink to begin soaking them—just as Luca drags Frankie to pick the second part of the evening.

By the time you’re joining them, finding your saved spot in between them both, the movie is ready to begin, the opening credits starting before you’ve even got under the blanket. It’s minutes before you feel Frankie’s fingers sliding up and down your shoulder, your head turning, smiling as Luca sighs loudly next to you, eyes still closed, sinking deeper into a heavier sleep.

“You had a nice evening, Butterscotch?”

“Was perfect.”

“Thank you. For letting me do this—let us do this for you.” Shrugging, his free hand stroking over his face. “I’m proud of you. Six years is… monstrous.”

Snorting, resting his head on the back of the sofa, he grins a little wider. “Can tell the pair of you have had the afternoon together—monstrous.”

“He says it better.”

Nodding, Frankie shifts in his place, hand pausing on your shoulder, before squeezing it. “T-thank you. For tonight. For making a big deal but… not making a big deal.”

“Big deal not big deals are kind of my forte.”

Laughing, his thumb and index tracing over his lower lip, as you flick your eyes back to the brightness on the television—the high-pitched voices of the characters making you giggle, as the cartoon scene plays out.

“Wish we could do this all the time,” you whisper, fingers stroking along Luca’s hair—feeling him nuzzle further in the space between your calves and bent knees.

Frankie doesn’t move, or shift, but rather drags his fingers up and draws a different shape on your neck, forcing your eyes to move from the screen to his. And you see it, nestled there—a question, one his mouth opens to speak.

“What?” you ask.

“We could… do this all the time.”

Brows raising, you smile. “Oh? How would we do that?”

“Rainy.”

“Francisco.”

Snorting, continuing his drawing on your arm, he lets out a weighted exhale. “We could… maybe live in one place?”

“Oh?”

His hand slides over your shoulder, squeezing it as your heart races as he takes a breath, as more of his words hang in the air. It isn’t that you haven’t thought about it—that it hasn’t come up casually, a promise of asking you properly previously teased—but now it’s here, there, present.

Things crash into you as you run through the list. The image of waking up with him every morning, is slighted by the worries that he’d grow sick of you if you didn’t have your separate spaces. Would you disappoint him? Would he like the version of you he sees all the time—and not just part of it—

But, even still, the answer is so clearly there, sitting, teetering on the tip of your tongue as you begin to grin, smile. Almost about to answer when Luca mumbles in his sleep beside you, something incoherent before his eyes flip open and he makes a funny noise.

Frankie shifts, hand dropping from you as he calls out his name.

“I… Daddy, I don’t feel very well.”

“Shit,” you whisper as you throw your legs down from the sofa as Frankie moves to kneel at the same time as he whispers, “Mierda.”

The back of his hand presses to the boy’s forehead as Luca begins rubbing his stomach. “You feel sick?”

Luca nods, rubbing his eyes as Frankie helps lift him from his place between the sofa and your legs and makes him stand up.

“You think Daddy was right about all those sprinkles?”

Nodding again, Luca buries his head into Frankie’s neck and chest, little hands sliding around as Frankie looks at you and smiles, reassuringly. “He’ll be fine. But, I’m gonna put him in bed—do not press play without me, Rainy.”

Grinning, your lashes flutter as he lifts his son and stands. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Morales.”

“And, maybe we can finish the conversation too.”

Okay, you whisper—fingers pinching at the skin on the back of your arms as your brain begins to tally, to list, to think.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

an: have you seen the bonus graphics on the masterlist? if you have any moments you'd love to see from the series till now, let me know and i'll make them for after the epilogue (chapter 20)

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Prologue

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 13k

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

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

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

Poppy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he did, she thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She does.

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

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

“Then why are you all grumpy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She wishes he would stop saying her name. 

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

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

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

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

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

She really wishes he wouldn’t call her that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Half?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Poppy knows that Nia knows something happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Awesome! What’s left to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There is no me and Nico,”

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing happened!”

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

“He has a girlfriend, Nia.”

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

“Since when?” Nia frowns. 

“Since the summer just gone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

They didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Talia was great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he knew something still wasn’t right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why was Poppy packing up her desk?

Why was she avoiding hanging out with the team?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that’s what they had been talking about. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe you should ask her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aren’t friends anymore.

Avoiding the whole team all year.

Jack is driving her home.

He’s her favourite.

Aren’t friends anymore.

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turns out, 4 months might be too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack: need ur help

Jack: urgently

Jack: wake up dude

Nico: I’m not driving anywhere for you

Jack: not asking u to

Jack: u will like this I promise 😌

Nico: what do you want?

Jack: need u to keep Poppy company

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

Jack: been on her own for a few hours

Jack: so she’s grumpy 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻 👹👹

Nico: doubt I can change the grumpy part

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

Jack: don’t need to

Jack: ur a grump too

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

Jack: u going down or no?

Nico: fine

Jack: I’ll be back in 1 hr :)

Jack: love u cap 😚

Nico: 🙄

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Chapter One

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Nobody's Girl - Chapter Three.

Check your girl out over here like Oprah. YOU get another chapter, and YOU get another chapter, and so on! I am seriously so flattered by everyone loving the story so far, and watching you all so rabidly consuming it makes me so very happy :)

With the time off work I have had recently, it's meant the story has virtually written itself, I'm up to chapter eleven in the writing, so what I thought would originally be a shorter series has turned into a longer one, meaning I can update more regularly. Well, I can only hope you like this chapter just as much as the previous two, and if you do, remember to leave me a little comment, or a reblog. You would have my eternal gratitude for doing so!

Previous chapters - One Two

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,300

Warnings - Adult content throughout, minors DNI!

Conversation. With a woman he wasn’t involved with. Truly, Luca couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever enjoyed such, but there he was on an otherwise quiet Thursday night experiencing just that. A soft flurry of snow gently drifted down outside, his apartment the warm cocoon he and Emily sequestered themselves within, sitting on the couch, mostly her sharing stories of her life before she’d literally fallen into his.  

“I remember there was this one time, back when I first got caught up with them, I was taken for a game at this house in Queens. Joey had loaned me to his brother, Giacinto, but of course there was the issue of how he could get me in at the table. So, he made a bet on a bet, I guess you’d call it. Strode in there and announced that he bet each player two hundred bucks they couldn’t beat me in a game of seven card stud.  

“Of course, part of the point of poker is counting cards, but I can do it faster and better, and I did. I won Giacinto five grand in one night, and most of the guys were pissed as hell that I’d beaten them, except for one. He was an older guy, thick glasses, big birthmark on his cheek. He told me I was every man’s worst nightmare, a pretty blonde with a brain, and he respected that.”  

“That’s Jimmy Phelan, Irish mob from Philly,” Luca nodded, quite impressed that she’d grabbed his attention.  

She clicked her fingers in remembrance. “Yeah, Jimmy. That was his name. I’ve met so many wiseguys that it’s hard to keep up with all of the names. I remember the ones who have curious nicknames, like Carmine the Boots, and Duck Foot Silv. I never asked how they got them, though.” 

Luca knew, of course. “Carmine is the boots ‘cuz that’s what he does to those who earn it, fits ‘em with a nice set of concrete boots and sends ‘em off for a swim in the Hudson River. Silvio, they call him duck foot ‘cuz the guy was born with webbed toes.” 

Her eyes widened, leaning forward in her seat. “Have you seen the toes?” 

“I have,” he smirked, scratching his jaw,. “He does this trick, sticks a quarter on his big toe and flicks it about ten feet in the air.” 

She snorted with giggles, sipping her drink and catching an ice cube to chew upon. The sound of her cracking it between her teeth did something to his insides that he couldn’t explain, but was very, very pleasant. “I bet he’s a good swimmer too, huh?” 

“Guy don’t need no flippers, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” 

He looked at her for a long moment, enchanted as usual by her loveliness. It was so easy with her. She knew exactly who and what he was, and she just accepted it without fuss, acting unguarded with him, rather than either trying to work him out or shrink in intimidation. It made a nice change, to simply experience a slice of normality like that, and especially with a woman. Most only wanted him for his money or the association of who he was.  

Or his cock. He was famed for having one hell of a nice cock, after a woman he’d bedded had been very loud in her praise of it one time.  

“So yeah, back to Jimmy being nice to me. He gave me a hundred dollars, said I’d earned it, being such a good card player. I was amazed, and I thought the cash was mine to keep, but not according to Giacinto. Copped a huge beating for that assumption, ended up with this.”  

Hooking her finger into her mouth, she pulled her cheek back to reveal the empty gum space where her back teeth should have sat, Luca feeling caustic within. How hard must he have punched her to knock a both a double and fucking wisdom tooth out, he had to wonder, remembering how tough his own had been to have extracted by a dentist.  

“Bastardo,” he hissed, picking up his drink and knocking it back, refilling it. “Ain’t no big man’s game, sluggin’ a broad. You wanna prove you have cojones? Fuckin’ walk up to the biggest fella in the room and crack him in the mouth. S’what I used to do whenever I got thrown in Sing Sing as a kid, not long after I arrived here from England.”  

“Have you ever done serious time for your endeavours?” she asked, lifting the wool shawl where it had slipped from her shoulders, Luca wishing she’d left it. Any chance he got to view more of her beautiful, lily skin, and he shamelessly took it. It had been gnawing at him for the past fourteen days since she’d been there, chewing away at his resolve like a starving wolf.  

Usually, he’d have made his move by now on somebody he coveted. Hell, his record was ten seconds upon seeing a woman he desired, walking up to her and brashly asking a simple, three worded question. “Wanna fuck me?” No woman ever refused him. With Emily, though, because of her sheer loveliness, as tempting as it would be to corrupt, he held himself back.  

It was a fierce internal conflict he waged war with, his rampant libido dictating he simply take her to bed and bounce her on his cock until she screamed his name, the very little morality left within him castigating such, because of how innocent and sweet the girl was. He couldn’t tarnish something that lovely and pure with the infection of his darkness. Until he could come to some resolve, he supposed he’d have to simply deal with the juxtaposition of wanting to cherish her like a princess and fuck her like a whore.  

She was a billion miles away from the latter, though. Hence the conflict. 

Also, he got the distinct impression that she was still too scared of him. For the most part, she was settled around him, a little shy still, but definitely comfortable enough to open up to him and talk, just like she was doing on that particular evening. If he showed the weight of his desire for her, though, she’d surely bolt. The last thing he wanted was for her to flee.  

“I did a few years for theft, when I was eighteen,” he eventually replied, once he’d managed to finally pull himself back out of his thoughts. “Few times being locked up here and there in the time between, too.”  

“Don’t you mafia guys have the police on payroll, or something?” 

That was another reason why he held himself back. Would she truly want to remain in the world she’d been held prisoner in, should he instigate anything with her? Then again, at least this time she would have a choice. “We do now, yeah. Hence why I ain’t seen a cell in a while.”  

“I think I’d cry if I was ever arrested. Jail sounds scary,” she spoke, sipping her drink, her sweetness making his chest hurt. Why did she have to be the loveliest little thing he’d ever met? It was making him crazy, the want to protect her, the need to fuck her dirty, both colliding with the resolve that he’d solely keep here there until he knew all he wanted about the Calabrese family.  

It was a resolve that seemed to fracture away with every second that passed in her company.

She’d given him very useful information so far, too. Safe house locations his guys had duly gone in and looted, details of deals that she’d been made privy to that he’d been able to scupper before they’d had a chance to come to fruition. Because of Emily, he had the upper hand in the war against the family who – in his mind, at least – needed to show respect and fall back into line.  

What would happen when the well that was her information dried up, though? What, he was simply meant to let this beautiful little creature, this utter mythical princess of a woman unlike any others he’d encountered simply be on her way, and leave his life with a little less pure, iridescent sparkle in her wake? 

He was glad of the distraction when a heavy fist pounding the door below interrupted their evening, Emily nearly jumping out of her skin.  

“S’okay,” he assured her as he stood, resting a hand to her shoulder. “That’s Angelo, he has a habit of knocking like he’s the fuckin’ police.” He headed to the stairs, descending, opening the door but remaining out of her sight as he and Angelo exchanged hushed whispers. Luca appeared again after a few minutes, looking lamentable, but also angry as he pulled himself into his thick, black coat. 

“I have to go out, something I gotta attend to,” he spoke, Emily rising to her feet. 

“Oh, alright. When will you be back?” 

He shrugged, not looking pleased at all. “Hopefully not too long, but don’t wait on me, alright?” 

She nodded, and then completely on blind impulse, reached for his face, pulling him down to her tiny level and kissing his cheek. “Be careful.” 

His heart all but broke the ribs covering it with the force of its rapid thuds. He winked, thumb stroking the apple of her cheek. “I will, doll.”  

As he walked back down the stairs, he could still feel the soft press of her lips against his cheek, his pulse amped up from even the tiniest display of affection from his houseguest. He truly hadn’t expected it, and when he should have left the building with nothing but business on his mind, instead, it was only getting back to Emily again that occupied his thoughts.  

Meanwhile, the girl herself flopped back onto the couch, sighing as she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, god help me. I want that man so badly!” she grimaced, groaning with discomfort. Truly, she didn’t know how the hell to play it, either, feeling so conflicted.

Sometimes, he’d flirt with her, but she was too shy to reciprocate it, meaning he’d pull back and cool down with how he acted around her. Other times, she knew only too well he was trying to wheedle information regarding the Calabrese’s from her, information she found herself giving, getting herself furtherly wrapped up in a world she knew truly wasn’t any good for her.  

How much danger was she in, though, from her place beneath the albatross-like wings of Luca Changretta? Nobody would be fool enough to touch her. However, that was only if she became more to him than whatever she was, she supposed. Then again, he had told her several times already she was safe with him. 

Falling into a silly daydream, she imagined him taking her in his arms, kissing her, those big, tattooed hands laying worship upon her, that sultry voice of his speaking his wants and desires. She let her mind wander for so long that she was still partially in a daze when she heard a rapid knock at the door, followed by the creak of it opening, the music no longer playing.  

“Luca? It’s only me,” a female voice called, her heeled feet alighting the stairs. Before she could speak, a buxom looking redhead appeared, her face surprised as she took Emily in. “Oh, hi! I’m Maggie, and you are?”  

“Hi, Maggie. I’m Emily, and Luca is out,” she spoke, picking up her drink and finishing it. 

“Oh, oh alright. I must’a missed him leaving,” she muttered, holding two large jute bags in her hands. “I was just bringin’ up the takings to him, but I guess I can leave ‘em with you. You’re his new gal, right?” 

She shook her head. “No, just his, uh, his friend.”  

Maggie snorted, placing the takings down on the coffee table. “Luca don’t have gals who are just friends, sweetie pie.” She viewed her carefully, watching the way the young blonde blushed furiously, reaching for the vodka bottle. Only a tiny drizzle remained within.  

“Damn,” Emily pouted, “I drank it all.”  

“Hey, I gotta load of premixed cocktails I’d otherwise throw out. Fancy coming and helping me drink ‘em while I clean up for the night?” Maggie offered, suddenly feeling like she would be being rude to go and pour it all away, and leave the girl upstairs alone, waiting on a man who would likely be gone for hours. Especially too after she’d blatantly embarrassed the hell out of her by her assertion over her boss and his lack of female friends.  

Who was she to judge? Stranger things had happened, she guessed, although she had to admit, she was very curious. If Luca wasn’t giving her a good fucking on the regular, then just what was she doing there? She had noticed her boss not present down in the joint for the last two weeks, with none of his usual rotation of females making their way up to the apartment. Curiosity demanded an answer. 

Smiling, Emily rose to her feet, stuffing them into her shoes. “Sure, that’d be nice.”  Following Maggie back down, she was ushered over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the high stools, the clean up in full effect as people swept, tidied and mopped, the band disassembling their instruments and returning them to their respective cases.  

“Here, I hope you like Manhattan’s,” Maggie spoke, pouring a large measure into a copper mug and passing it over, topping off her own and holding it out. “Cheers, Emily.” 

“Cheers.” She took a swig, the alcohol hitting her throat so hard, she almost coughed, the redhead throwing her head back. 

“Sorry, sugar. I make ‘em potent!” she smirked, taking a soapy cloth and beginning to clean down the bar. “So, you and Luca. What’s the story, darl?”  

Emily didn’t really feel comfortable with revealing the whole truth to a perfect stranger, even though obviously she was a trusted person by the man himself. She wouldn’t have been working in his speakeasy if she wasn’t. “I’m staying with him for a little while.” 

“And you ain’t knockin’ boots with him?” she was then asked. 

“No, definitely not,” she replied, taking another sip of the rocket fuel in her grasp.  

Maggie raised an eyebrow, beginning to pick up liquor bottles from behind the bar and clean the runs and drips away with her cloth. “But you wanna, amirite? Everyone wants to fuck Luca, ‘cept me. I like ‘em a little prettier.”  

Watching her wink as a cute, almost angelic looking blonde saxophone player walked past and waved goodnight, Emily caught her drift immediately. Turning back to Maggie, she shrugged lightly. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m his type.” By that point, she’d seen a picture of Filomena, his ex-wife when he’d shown her some photographs of his children. She was dark haired, buxom, Italian and glamorous. Everything she wasn’t.  

“True,” Maggie spoke, pausing to light a cigarette, her cleaning endeavours finished. “But men like somethin’ a lil’ different, they’ll find themselves urging for a taste of the unfamiliar when it’s presented to ‘em. You should give him a go, darl. I hear he’s good with his cock.”  

It was an unfortunate time to take a sip of the lethal Manhattan, Emily half spraying it back into the mug at her brazenness. Maggie couldn’t resist in teasing further. “One of the dancers here was fucking him a while back. Said he was hung like a bull and had the stamina of a guy half his age.”  

Emily felt herself shrinking with every word, Maggie throwing her head back and laughing hoarsely. “Oh, ain’t you a cutie! Gettin’ all shy. Sorry, I know I’m brash. I’ll behave.”  

Perhaps having a female perspective into her predicament might be helpful, she then pondered. Maggie seemed nice, friendly, too. It wasn’t like Emily had a whole lot in the way of friends, either, no gal pals to run her thoughts by. “Okay, so the truth is, I do want to,” she began, Maggie’s face lighting up as she leaned over the bar, huddling close. 

“Tell me more, sugar!” 

Pausing, she took another sip of her drink for courage. “I want to, but I never have before. With any man.”  

The barmaid’s eyes all but fell out of her skull. “Really?” 

She nodded.  

“But... why? Sex is amazing with the right guy!” 

Just then, a door flew open down at the other end of the room, one of the dancers striding out, mid-tirade. “It’s the fuckin’ same with all you fuckin’ Italian jerks!” she screamed, the guy following her looking nonchalant. “All of youse expect us to fuckin’ suck dick, but when it comes to returning it, nadda, nothin’, no sale! Would it fuckin’ kill you to eat me out just once, Luciano?” 

He shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “I ain’t about that.” 

“Yeah, me and my thirsty kitty cat know only too well, you two-bit fuck! We’re done!” She was out of the joint in a blur of sequins and fury, Emily and Maggie sharing a wide-eyed look at having front row seats to such a show. 

“Yeah, he ain’t the right guy,” the latter snorted, jerking her thumb in the direction where Luciano, one of Luca’s street guys had just walked in, softly cussing to himself in Italian.  

“To answer your question, I don’t know, really,” Emily confessed, thinning her lips momentarily. “I’ve never found anyone I like enough to do it with, I guess. It’s like I’m a beacon for shitty guys with bad intentions.”  

Her confidant didn’t truly know how to answer that, since Luca did seem to go through women like they were entering and exiting in a revolving door. However, there was a plus point. “Well, if you decided to, at least it wouldn’t be a lousy first experience for ya. He’s forty-three, the man has heaps of experience, so it wouldn’t be like my first. Two pumps and a squirt, baby. I was so disappointed,” 

The women both snorting laughing, Emily throwing her head back as she truly began to cackle loudly. Oh, she was funny, this brazen woman who had taken her under her wing and plied her with lethally potent cocktails. While she was beginning to relax and find herself making a new friend, the topic of their conversation was walking into a speakeasy in Bushwick, his crew around him.  

“Luca, glad you could join me,” Giacinto Calabrese spoke, leaning back in his seat. “Drink?”  

“No thanks,” he drawled through the chew on his toothpick, “won’t be stayin’ all that long. So, Angelo here tells me you gotta deal for me, huh?” 

His adversary gestured to a chair, Luca taking a seat, his eyes never leaving the man as he felt his mood darkening, looking at his hands. Those were the knuckles that had smashed the teeth out of her mouth. “I do, because you have somethin’ of ours we want returned to us, but I’m a fair man. I’m happy to exchange.” Lifting his chin, he pulled his cigarettes out, lighting one up. “Give me the girl, and I’ll walk away from the warehouses in Yonkers. You have my word.” 

He rolled his tongue against his cheek, chuckling a deadly hiss. “Your word is worth shit, and Emily ain’t for sale, pal.” 

“Oh!” The wise assed man laughed, entertained. “On first name terms with the little puttana now, huh? Wait, I can’t call her that, though. Bitch is more frigid than a fuckin’ nun!”  

Luca remained still, but his eyes moved with all the intent of a predator locking onto its target, slowly pulling the toothpick from between his lips. “The fuck you just call her, stronzo? A bitch?” 

“Yeah,” Giacinto laughed, “I called her a bitch, and...”  

That was as far as he got before the lion that was the head of the Changretta mob pounced, grabbing his collar and pounding his head down onto the table, their respective guys all drawing their weapons. 

“You’re outnumbered, fellas,” Angelo rumbled, tutting. “Put ‘em down.” The men fell back, all watching the scene unfold before them.  

Luca loomed like a shadow of death, his hand holding Giacinto fast against the smooth, dark wood. “Did you call her a bitch when you knocked her fuckin’ teeth out? Did ya? Tell me, how hard does a guy like you have to slug a tiny little thing like her to crack the goddamned teeth from her jaw? This hard?” His fist met his face in a sickeningly strong blow, the piece of shit beneath his grasp grunting in pain. “This hard?” He punched him again, this time loosening one of the teeth he was aiming for, Luca hauling him up and beginning to lay repetitive punches to his face, Giacinto flying back to the floor.  

With his rage pumping like water through a broken dam, Luca loomed over him, pulling a flick knife from his pocket and releasing the blade, holding it so hard against his cheek, his blood began to seep from beneath the press. “You ever speak her name again and I will cut your fuckin’ tongue from your head. The Yonkers warehouses are mine now, too, just for the fuckin’ gall of you. Give your fuckin’ father my goddamned regards, Giacinto.”  

“Fuck you, Luca!” he spat, shame and rage coiling through him.  

“Fuck me, huh?” he laughed, low and deadly. “Nah, kid. Tell me, you right-handed? You are, aren’t ya? It was your right hand you used to beat her, wasn’t it?” Wrenching his arm up, he grasped his wrist, bringing the knife down between his third and fourth fingers, beginning to slice through skin, sinew and tendons. Giacinto screamed, Luca holding the knife towards Angelo, needing both hands to grab the second and third, then fourth and fifth fingers, grasping hard before literally ripping his hand apart.  

“Can’t go punching little girls no longer now, can you?” Standing, he left him screaming on the floor, looking to his guys. “Step down from the warehouses as of tonight, or I do worse to all six of youse.” With that, Luca and his eight cohorts left the speakeasy, heading back to their cars, Brooklyn bound. Entering his apartment just under a half hour later, he made sure he was quiet, not wanting to wake the beauty in his bed.  

Hanging his coat and jacket, he unlaced his shoes, removing his tie as he walked over to the bed, just about able to see her outline there curled up, sleeping soundly. Reaching toward her face, he gently swept the platinum strands of hair that had fallen loose back behind her ear, tenderly stroking the apple of her cheek with the back of his fingers.  

He realised right there that she could never again utter anything about the Calabrese’s, and he wouldn’t care at all. He didn’t need her for information. He just needed her to be safe.  

The twisted irony wasn’t lost on him, though, that the very person she wasn’t safe from was the one whose bed she slept soundly in, but for very different reasons than what the Calabrese’s represented. He lingered there only a moment longer before going to the bathroom and undressing, pulling on his grey and white striped pyjama bottoms, heading for the couch.  

“Luca?”  

He actually jumped a little, hearing her soft voice suddenly sound through the dark. “Yeah, doll?” Turning, he watched her sit up, peeling the bed clothes back as she shuffled over, patting the mattress. “It’s freezing. You can’t keep sleeping on the couch. I don’t mind sharing.”  

He hesitated only a second before walking over, climbing in next to her, his heart beginning to race. Her warmth was the most alluring intoxication he’d ever felt near to him, wanting nothing but to wrap himself around her, meld his body to hers, tell her in no uncertain terms that Giacinto Calabrese would never dare touch her again.  

Lying there, Emily could feel the tension radiating from him, not knowing why he was in such a state, but sensing it all the same. Had something happened, while he was out, something to spark his temper, amp his ire? She felt him turn away from her, turning over herself and hesitating a moment before putting the advice she’d had from Maggie to good use. ‘Just move on him. You’re beautiful, sugar. He won’t turn you down.’  

It wasn’t necessarily a sexual advance, as Maggie had been specifically advocating, but it was a step in the right direction. Wrapping her arm around him, she pressed herself against his back, resting her hand to his chest. Her heart almost leapt into her throat when she felt him grasp her hand, thumb stroking, placing a kiss upon her fingers.  

He clutched her hand tight, feeling her breath flutter against his shoulder blades, his heart still hammering. If he turned to her, that would be it. He wouldn’t be able to hang onto the bull within him, goring against the very last of his soft flesh in a bid for freedom. Flesh that had softened for her. 

He remembered how he’d felt, punching Giacinto repeatedly in the face, until he had expelled blood with every groaned breath, all for her, because of her, because no man would ever make the sweet little darling curled against him feel less than all she was ever again.  

But still, he didn’t dare turn over. It’d be like Satan himself defiling the purest of angels. If only Luca knew, though, as he wrestled with the beast within, that the only thing the angel pressed against his back wanted was to feel the burn of his lust against her skin.  

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Luca continues in working towards his goal of unraveling Lucy both physically and mentally.

Word Count: 6,066

Notes: This chapter is pretty brutal, but I felt that it was important in order to properly understand Lucy's mental state going forward. But if you need to skip or skim it, that it entirely fine! Please take care of your mental health! Warnings for depictions of torture, blood, suicidal thoughts, use of a slur, sexual assault (but not full blown rape) past gang rape, and references to pregnancy and racism.

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Chapter 23: The Mercy Seat

Men always hurt women, to punish other men.

It was something that her Aunt Miri had told her once, when Lucy was visiting her mother’s Romani kin where they lived in the mountains. She had been young, barely even a teenager, when Miri had told her that. At the time, she did not understand.

She understood now.

Drip…drip…drip…

She could feel the blood still oozing slowly down her back, falling in droplets to land in the crimson puddle that had steadily grown below her suspended feet. 

Her back felt as though it had been dipped in alcohol and then set ablaze with a flaming match. The skin was so tender, even the simple kiss of cool air against it was agonizing. Without being able to actually see and assess the damage, she could only assume, based on how she’d felt the whip dig into and rip away chunks and layers of skin, that the entire expanse of her back had been slashed to ribbons. If the skin ever got the chance to heal, it would likely be just one mass of pale scars layered on top of one another. 

She’d lost count of how many lashes she’d taken. By the end, she already had been drifting in and out of consciousness. And then Luca had poured something over the entirety of her ruined back, and she’d screamed so loud she thought she might bust her vocal cords, and darkness came to claim in her a great rush. 

When she woke up, she was still dangling by the ceiling, her back burning and her shoulders screaming from having her entire weight hanging from them for hours. 

How long had it been? A few hours? A few days? A week? She couldn’t tell; she’d been teetering in and out of consciousness since the whipping. There was no clock in the room. No windows to tell what time of day it was. No way to know just how much time had passed since Luca had taken her. 

Tommy, where are you?

Tears that she tried furiously to try to blink away pricked at her eyes. He’d come for her. He would. Maybe it hadn’t really been as long as she thought… 

 The last time she had felt so helpless had been that night in the alley, when Matthew,–the man her father had promised her away to–angry over her latest rejection, had cornered her with his friends and gang raped her. And then, after they were done and they thought she was dead, they took her out to an abandoned park and buried her in a shallow grave. A grave that she woke up in, terrified and in agony, and by some miracle managed to dig her way out of.    

Those had easily been some of the worst moments of her life. Haunting and tormenting her constantly. Never letting her entirely, fully be free of them. 

She’d made a promise to herself to never be that powerless and incapable of defending herself ever again. And yet here she was, completely trapped, with no way to escape, unable to do much more than wait and hope that Tommy would come and save her. 

Luca had been by a few times, to pour water down her throat and rake his fingers down the wounds in her back, grinning when she screamed. He fed little bits of bread to her from his fingers, Lucy hating herself even as she gratefully gulped down the tiny morsels offered to help quell the ache of hunger in her stomach. Sometimes he hit her. Once he kicked her in the small of the back before heading out of the room. She’d blacked out from the explosion of pain that action had brought, terrified for a moment he would try to break her back with his boot before the dark swoop of unconsciousness embraced her once more.

But the worst were the words that he spoke. Manipulative, sly hisses in her ear that she knew were not true. And yet it was as if he had crawled inside her ear and lodged himself in her brain, starting to wear away at her, bit by little bit. 

He’s not coming. 

He never loved you.

You’re alone.

Her fingers tightened against the rope, scratching at it uselessly. Hatred and disappointment towards herself for allowing this to happen providing her with a sudden bout of strength. 

But even the tiniest of movements caused pain to slice through her back and shoulders. It almost felt like she was being whipped all over again. 

The lock on the door clicked, and the heavy wood swung open. Briefly, she was treated to a glimpse of the world beyond her hellish cell. All she could see was a short hallway that led to a flight of stairs, and a guard standing at attention by the door. And then Luca stepped in, swinging the thick wood shut behind him and locking it. 

“I brought you some water,” he said, setting down his briefcase on the table in the corner and removing his hat, going to her and raising a glass to her lips. Lucy gulped down the cool liquid, hating herself the entire time for accepting anything from him, even as it helped to quench her parched, aching throat. 

“It’s been a long while, now,” Luca commented once she was done, lowering the glass from her lips and stepping back over to the table, placing it down next to his hat, then shedding his coat to drape it over the back of the chair. “Are you still so certain that he’ll come for you?”

Lucy answered him with a glare. Luca shrugged, unconcerned, snapping open the latches on the briefcase. When he opened it, he angled it in such a way that she could not see what was inside. 

“Did you think that Tommy has even noticed that you’re gone, yet?” he looked up to her with that grin she’d grown to hate. 

Her throat flexed, jaw clenching while she battled to keep all emotion save for contempt off of her face. It was impossible that Tommy hadn’t noticed. The second that she didn’t show up in time for lunch like she’d promised, he would know something was wrong. 

“I know that he knocked up his little whore of a secretary. Maybe he simply doesn’t have much need for you, anymore.” Luca continued on. Lucy felt a lump wedge its way into her throat. “Maybe I’m doing him a favor by getting rid of you,” he chuckled. Lucy tried not to let his words sink into her mind and take root there, but it was already too late. He was already deep inside her head. Tears once again started to well in her eyes.  

It felt like a violation. Almost like getting raped all over again. He was in her head and she didn’t want him there, rooting around and planting ideas into the depths of her mind that would only serve to hurt her. To torture her even if she did somehow manage to get out of this cell and away from him. 

Luca took a step away from the briefcase, towards her, and Lucy tried to cringe back but couldn’t. He beamed at her obvious discomfort. “Maybe he’s noticed that you’re gone, but doesn’t care at all.”

The tears lingering at her lash line finally started to spill forth, running down her sweaty, tired face in a warm cascade of salty water.

No; Tommy loves me, she tried to argue. But the rest of her exhausted, pain ravaged mind just screamed back, THEN WHERE IS HE!?

Luca’s brow creased in mock concern at the sight of her tears, but his eyes betrayed the elation he felt at managing to get her to crack. Embarrassment and frustration over allowing him to see her break only caused more tears to come, the little sobs in her chest sending shocks of pain up and down her entire torso. 

“Shh…” in a handful of long strides, he was directly in front of her, reaching out to swipe her tears away with his thumb. Lucy jerked her head furiously away from his touch, glowering at him through bleary eyes. Luca just shot her a condescendingly amused expression, brushing away the rest of her tears. “I have something for you,” he said it like a parent would to a child regarding a birthday present. “Wait right there.”

A pit of dread opened up inside her stomach, terror slicing through her like a knife. Tremors at the suggestion of having to experience more pain started to wrack through her entire body. Watching as he made his way back over towards the briefcase, to retrieve whatever new instrument of horrors he planned to use on her next.      

“I know that anything that I do to you can’t be worse than what’s already been done,” Luca was looking her up and down like one would a particularly scrumptious meal. “So, we’re going to try something else. A little…trip down memory lane, so to speak.”

Lucy’s stomach cinched painfully, eyes widening with a thousand possibilities as to what he could mean by that. 

“But first,” he drew from the briefcase a slip of black fabric. “I’m going to blind you. Not literally, though believe me, the thought was tempting,” he strode to stand in front of her, reaching out to stroke the back of his hand down her cheek, ignoring her useless attempts to jerk her face away. “To pluck out those pretty green eyes…put them in a jar to mail to your lover,” he wetted his lips, expression that of a man half aroused. Until he shook his head and the heatedness of his gaze dissipated into only hardened cruelty. “We’ll get to that eventually. But not now. I want you to be able to see my handiwork once I’m done.” Reaching out, he trailed his hands along one of the scars that ran from her collarbone down her chest, disappearing under the rags of the white shirt that barely clung to her body.  

“I gave you something new, with those lashes to your back. Now for something old. My mother told me about the stories of what happened to you in London. I’m going to reopen all of your scars from that night.” That serpentine smile was back, stretching his cheeks grotesquely and shimmering in his eyes. “You will close your eyes behind the blindfold, and relive what it felt like to have your skin carved apart. To be raped over and over again,” his voice dropped in pitch to a menacing growl. Lucy felt as though she were about to puke, heart pounding and chest tightening as she fought to control her breathing around the mounting panic inside her. 

No, no, no, no, please, not again…

“I considered just letting my men have at you for a few hours. But I’m a selfish man.” Luca reached out with one hand, and pressed his palm to the bottom half of her face, tipping her head back. His hand was large enough that it covered her skin from nose to chin easily. Like a muzzle, nearly crushing her cheekbones under his fingertips. Tears she did not even realize she’d allowed to spill forth dripped onto his knuckles. “I want your pain all to myself. I want to look Tommy Shelby in the eye, and tell him about how it was me who destroyed you.” With one last possessive squeeze to her face, he dropped his hand. His smile faded, and for a moment she saw the true man poised behind the grinning mask; a figure of deep, unending rage and hatred. “Let’s begin.”

“N-no–” she tried to twist her face away, but there was nowhere for her to go. Luca curled the slip of black fabric over her eyes. It was rough, almost like sandpaper against her skin, forcing her to close her eyes. The entire world was plunged into darkness, the sound of her panicked breaths seeming to increase in volume. A few strands of her hair were snagged and ripped from her scalp as he roughly knotted the fabric at the back of her head.

Not being able to see him or anticipate his next move only made the terror worse. Her heart was beating fast as a hummingbird's wings against her ribs. In the dark, her other senses were heightened, the damp smell of the room growing more obvious, the ache in her back and shoulders more pronounced. 

When she felt Luca’s hands on her chest, she nearly screamed at the touch alone. To her horror, he plucked away the remains of her shirt and bra, pulling them from her body with one final tear of fabric. The need to cover her bare breasts had her desperately tugging on the restraints holding her arms above her head, momentarily able to ignore the pain in her shoulders. Luca just laughed, hands grasping at her waist to keep her still. 

When his fingers started to fumble with the button on her trousers, she began to sob. 

“Please, please, please, don’t–” she tried to twist and buck him away from her. In the time she’d been dangling there, she’d tensed her core at intermediate moments, pulling her body up when she did. Breathing through the pain in her back that the contracting of muscles caused, trying to take some of the weight off of her shoulders, if even just for a moment. She did that now, attempting to writhe away from Luca’s icy touch. Her legs soon joined the mix as well, trying to kick him away from her. Tears streamed down her cheeks in rivers, wetting the blindfold. Pleas fell from her lips, her pride entirely forgotten in the name of pure, uninhibited panic. 

“Shut up!” he slapped her suddenly across the face, so hard that her teeth rattled in her skull and one of her ears rang. The shock of the sudden action was enough to have her struggles cease for just enough time to allow him to get a firm grip on her. With a vicious movement, he yanked open her trousers and pulled them off along with her knickers, leaving her entirely naked and horrifically exposed.      

The need to cover and hide herself was all consuming, amplifying the terror already coursing through her. She could barely breathe, her chest felt so tight, little wheezes puffing from her lips. 

Maybe she would pass out before he could actually do anything. 

Even the tiniest ghosts of air against her skin was enough to have her flinching, little whimpers sounding in her throat as she braced for the first infliction of pain. 

Her fingers curled against each other and the rope holding them in place. She tried to latch onto that. To focus on the bristles of the rope’s fibers and not what Luca was about to do to her. Certainly not on the memories of the last time she’d felt this exposed and vulnerable. They were swimming up from the well in which she’d tried to drown them, crawling towards her on hands and knees with demented smiles, voices that she still sometimes heard in her nightmares beginning to call out to her. 

“Hm…” Luca hummed, contemplating. She started to cry even harder when his hands smoothed down her body, starting at the sides of her breasts, skimming down her waist to the swell of her hips, rubbing up and down her thighs. “I can see why Tommy likes you so much,” he whispered into her ear, hot breath fanning across the side of her face. 

Without warning, a blade dug into the meat of her outer thigh, perfectly following the path of the scar that ran jaggedly almost down to her knee. Lucy screamed, the blade digging in deeper than she expected, and with her sense of touch more reactive, she swore that she could feel every bit of muscle and skin split apart in its wake.  

In her mind, it was raining. She was crying as they swarmed around her, dragging her into the dark, narrow alleyway where no one would hear or see them. The damp cobblestones were slick and cold when they threw her to the ground. They were laughing, their voices layering on top of one another. 

Luca started to carve into one of the messy scars on her right side, following the gnarly pattern that had been cut into her years before. She vaguely sensed that he was taking care to puncture her just deep enough to make it hurt, to coax her memories closer to the forefront of her mind, but not so deep that he accidentally punctured anything vital. 

The men in the alley had used meager little pocket knives. Not professionally sharpened blades. That was likely the only reason she’d survived the encounter. 

They had torn at and pushed up the skirt of her dress–that was back when she still wore dresses–hands groping greedily at her skin. The others held her down when she tried to squirm away, grips so hard she thought that her bones might crunch under their palms. 

To keep her body from swinging while he sliced into a scar near her bellybutton, Luca placed a palm on her back, and she howled at the press of his fingers against the tender canvas of open wounds that covered her back. 

The percussion of thunder overhead drowned out her screams and pleas for them to stop. Matthew had her first. Ignoring her begs for them to stop, he backhanded her across the face, then seized her cheeks roughly, spitting vile, horrid things into her ear that she squeezed her eyes shut against. As if that would somehow cut off her hearing too. 

Try as she might, she had never been able to entirely banish his voice from her head. 

This is what you get, you stupid girl. This is what you fucking deserve.

Luca’s blade bit into the flesh of her chest. 

You are mine. All mine. Nothing will ever change that.

Lucy sobbed as the tip of the knife scraped along her ribs, following the outline of pale, raised flesh. She would be lucky if her body wasn’t entirely covered in scar tissue once this was over. If it was ever over. 

You will never be free of me. 

When Matthew was done, he let his friends take turns with her, him and the others holding her down, cutting into her with their knives as they pleased. Laughing. Look at how she bleeds, boys. So bright and red. And here I was thinking that all gypsies had dirty blood. 

She could not tell if the way that Luca was touching her was with the genuine purpose to grope, or if he was simply seeking to find the best purchase on her body to keep her still while he carved into her. It didn’t not really matter, she supposed. The result was the same. Her skin felt dirtied from having his hands on her, stomach roiling at once again living through such potent sensations of violation. 

“Please, please, stop…” she somehow managed to get the words out of her hyperventilating lungs. In response, Luca dug the blade in deep to get through a particularly thick scar near her hip, and she screamed, voice straining, as she swore that the blade slipped far enough into her skin to scrape bone. 

No matter how much she cried, screamed, and begged, he did not stop. Not until all of her scars had been carved back open, blood dripping in rivers down her fair skin. When he was done, Luca did not say a word. He just stood, pulled the blindfold roughly off of her face, collected his things, and left her hanging there, her body ever so slightly swinging from side to side from the ropes binding her hands above her head. Sobbing, shaking, bleeding, and lost to her memories. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy stared out the window, watching despondently as the sun set on the third day that Lucy had been missing. By mid-morning tomorrow, it would be seventy-two hours since he’d last seen her. Since she’d smiled at and kissed him before disappearing out the door. 

He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten, despite the plates of biscuits and toast that Polly and Ada had left for him on his desk. He’d smoked more cigarettes than what he normally went through in a week. It felt like his head was about to burst, dread building to an unbearable level with every advancing tick of the clock. 

She was dead. She had to be. No way that Luca would have kept her alive for this long. 

Throat convulsing painfully when he swallowed, he looked away from the treacherous sun.

I don’t want to live without her.

It had been a thought that had started swirling around in his head when they’d officially passed the twenty-four hour mark. And try as he might, he could not push it away.

Amazing, how easy that realization had come. And how quickly he had accepted it. Almost with no thought at all. As if there could never have even been another alternative to consider.  

If Lucy was dead, then he would not be far behind her. 

Charlie would be fine. Better off, probably, with Ada or Polly. Same went for Lizzie and the baby. The rest of them could finally have the peace they had so long pleaded with him for. There was plenty of money to go around for them all, and more incoming, if they decided to keep things running.  

How would he go about it? A blade to the wrists? A noose and a stepstool? A gun to the temple, loaded with a bullet engraved with his own name?

That last one seemed right, for some reason. He could ride out to their spot in the meadow. Under the tree by the lake whose trunk still displayed the scar of their engraved names encircled by a heart.

Yes; if Lucy was dead, so was he. It was as simple as that. After all, he could not live without his heart. And certainly not without half his soul.

Did Luca understand that? Tommy wondered. Did he know that all he had to do to kill Tommy was stop the beating of Lucy’s heart? 

Shaking the thoughts away, he adjusted his fingers around the phone he held up to his ear, wetting his lips and taking a deep breath to try to steady himself as he waited for the person he was calling to pick up the phone on the other end. 

Despite everything, he’d managed to calm down and pull himself together, at least externally. Worry, fear, and about a thousand other emotions still ravaged within him, but the mask of control was back firmly in place. 

His explosion had managed to clear his mind of the paranoia he’d been getting choked by when Lizzie first came in. Once it was over, it actually felt like, for the first time in a few hours, he was able to think somewhat logically again. 

Ada had left him alone briefly to go into the kitchen to check in on Lizzie and Polly, and to get him some tea, pointedly ignoring his request for whiskey instead. When she came back, saucer in hand, it was to fill him in on Lizzie’s story of what had happened when Lucy came to visit her. Even though he hadn’t eaten anything all day, his stomach flipped nauseatingly at the description of Luca slamming Lucy’s head into the doorframe and his men dragging her away.   

But it was a relief to know that Lizzie hadn’t betrayed them. That, at least, was a thought he no longer had to worry about occupying vital space inside his head.

Since then he remained at the betting shop, coordinating with his men to make additional sweeps. Seated by the phone, always answering it on the first ring, listening with a sinking heart to each report that came up empty handed. They’d started questioning people in the area around Lizzie’s house after the first night, slowly widening the search, and still nothing. And with each failure to turn up any leads, all hope of finding her slipped even further from his grasp. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. My girl. My sweet girl. I’m so sorry. I’m trying. I’m doing everything that I can.

He’d gone out with Arthur for a few hours on one of his sweeps, but it only served to make him more frustrated and anxious. The thought that one of the other search parties had found something and called the betting shop while he was out wreaked havoc on his nerves. It made him snappish and even more irritable than he already was. To the point that Arthur demanded he return home because he–in Arthur’s words–‘looked to be about two seconds away from either murder, mutilation, or a nervous breakdown.’ 

There was a slight crackle on the other end of the line, and then, “‘ello?”

“Alfie,” Tommy said, clearing his throat when he heard just how strained his voice still sounded. “I need a favor.”

“I thought that arranging my nephew to fight that scrawny little son of the man with the ridiculous hair was my favor to you, mate,” Alfie started to grumble. “If you’re going to start asking for more–”

“They took Lucy,” Tommy interrupted. Much as he often enjoyed Alfie’s colorful, at times bordering on nonsensical, rants, he did not have time for one right now. 

Shocked silence greeted him from the other end. “They what?”

Tommy nodded, even though Alfie couldn’t see him. “I, uh, I have my men scouring the city here, but I was wondering if you could have some of your boys search around Camden Town in case he decided to take her out of Birmingham.”

“Yes, yes, of course, I’ll have some men sent out.” 

Tommy let out a quiet breath of relief at how easy it was to convince him. Then again, Alfie had always had a soft spot for Lucy. 

“Thank you, Alfie.” There was a soft tap of knuckles against his door. “I have to go. Call me if you find anything, yeah?” he waited for Alfie’s utterance of affirmation and hung up. “Come.”

The door opened slowly, and Lizzie timidly poked her head in. “Can I come in?”

He really would rather she not, but he sighed and beckoned her in, pulling another cigarette from his pocket and lighting it while she sank into the chair in front of him. 

They’d seen very little of each other since his outburst towards her. Outside of his brief excursion out with Arthur, he’d spent the past three days holed up in his office. But he often could hear the hum of Ada, Polly, and Lizzie’s voices outside. Ada told him that he didn’t need to worry; they would take care of everything regarding the shop or the company.

Both Polly and Lizzie were giving him a wide berth, however, and it was almost always Ada who came into his office to ask the occasional question, give a short report, or simply drop off a plate of food that they both knew would go untouched. 

He knew that he really ought to apologize for screaming at Lizzie, much as the words seem to catch in his throat and not want to budge. His eyes strayed to the ugly, slightly faded purple bruises on her throat. 

“Alright, look–”

“It’s fine.” Lizzie cut him off, shaking her head. “You had a right to be suspicious.”

He closed his mouth, considering her carefully. She was so bloody confusing when it came to Lucy. He was beginning to think that he would never entirely understand how she felt towards her. “Are you alright?” he asked finally, because it seemed like the thing he ought to ask, considering how prominent those bruises still were. 

Lizzie nodded, hand fluttering to her throat. “Looks worse than it is. Have you got people looking into the gardener? Ada said that she passed along what I told her and Polly about him.”

“Yes. We got the information you gave us out to all of our men. They’ll be looking for him.”

“He seemed like such a sweet old man when I interviewed him…”

Tommy gave her a look. “You hired him without telling me.”

Something in Lizzie’s eyes sharpened. “I didn’t want my entire staff to all be spies reporting my each and every movement back to you.”

“How many more people have you hired that I don’t know about?”

She leaned back into her chair, lips set in a firm line.

“Fire all of them.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Safety is of the utmost concern. Especially now. Like it or not, you’re a target. Anyone you hire needs to be at minimum background checked by either Lucy or Isiah.”

“Oh, for the love of–”

“Lizzie,” he said, angling his head up, voice stern. “You’re going to be the mother to my child. That means that there will always be a target on your back. I need to keep you both safe.”

“You could do that if you stopped.” Her light eyes were pleading as she leaned forward. “Throw the gun in the canal. Cut free the illegal businesses–”

“You like your new house?” he interrupted, head cocking. A crease appeared between her brows. 

“Of course…”

“How do you think I paid for it, Lizzie?”

She went silent, jaw clenching, giving a tiny shake of her head. Scoffing, Tommy leaned away. 

“I don’t have time to be talking about this right now.”

“Of course not, it’s always about her.”

“You’re damn fucking right it’s ‘always about her’ when she has been kidnapped and might very well be dead!” Ah, well. So much for keeping his cool with her again. Planting his hands flat on the desk, he leaned towards her. “You realize that they’re likely torturing her? Right now. Right as I sit here, talking to you and doing nothing to help her.” His voice cracked a little on the last word, slamming his shaking lips together before he said anything more.  

Lizzie cringed and looked away, slamming her eyes shut. “I didn’t…fuck. I didn’t mean it like that, Tom.”

“Didn’t you?” he spat out, unable to contain the bitterness.

“No,” she looked down at her hands, tracing nonsensical patterns into the wooden armrest. “You’re not doing nothing, Tommy,” she added, after a moment of quiet. “You’re commanding a city-wide search for her. That’s not nothing.”

“It’s not enough.”

She looked back up at him with sad eyes. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. She and I actually had a very good chat before Luca showed up.”

“Is there anything else that you can remember? Any clues or bits of information? Did he say anything that might indicate where they took her?”

“I’ve been wracking my brain. I can’t think of anything else that might be helpful. It all happened so fast.”

He could feel her gaze on him as he rubbed at his eyes to fight back an incoming headache. Weariness and dwindling hope were rampaging inside his mind. It had been so long since Lucy went missing. All the things that Luca could have done to her in that time…

“Tommy, if she’s gone…”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

For a few seconds, it actually seemed like Lizzie might honor his request. “I just thought that then…maybe…you and I–” 

His eyes snapped open, jaw going slack at the pure audacity displayed before him. Fucking hell, she was giving him goddamn whiplash with how quickly she was flipping between two diametrically opposed attitudes. One second, she was acting as though she cared for Lucy. The next, near gleefully trying to feel out how long after Lucy’s death would be appropriate to wait before she tried to shove her way into the space Lucy occupied within his heart. 

“That’s what you want to talk about? We don’t even know if she’s dead yet, and you’re already wondering how long until you can take her place in my life?”

“After the way that you behaved following your first wife’s death, can you really blame me?”

He stared at her, so shocked that she would throw that back in his face that he found himself momentarily without words. “Get out.” 

Lizzie immediately looked apologetic. “Tommy, I’m sorry–”

“I said get out!”

“Tommy, I didn’t–”

“Let me guess, you ‘didn’t mean it?’ That’s what you always fucking say, Lizzie. Right up until you turn around and say the exact same fucking thing again.”

She looked near tears, but stood from the chair and went to the door without a word. Hand on the doorknob, she stopped, turning back to face him.

“I just got battered around too, you know. The baby’s fine, by the way. Glad to know that you care so bloody much.”

He stifled a wince at that, the sharp knife of guilt twisting deeply. With everything else going on, he’d almost forgotten about the baby entirely. 

“Polly offered that I could stay with her until this is all over. I was going to take her up on that, but now I think that I’d rather go back home and be away from the whole lot of you.”

She was going to give him a migraine. Or a fucking stress-induced stroke. 

“I’ll get some of our best men to watch the house.”

Lizzie’s expression had unfocused, eyes wide and truly afraid where they stared at the wall. “He told me that he’d come for me and the baby once you’re all dead.”

 Tommy frowned, and wondered for the first time if part of her recent attempts to wriggle in closer to him were not so much as a result of her trying to push Lucy out to make room for herself, as they were because she was afraid and seeking out security. Gathering up what last little shreds of patience he had remaining, he forced his voice to soften when he spoke to her.  

“You stay here until I can sort out protection for you, all right?”

Her expression changed into one of sheepish gratitude, nodding. “I am sorry. I’m trying, I swear. It’s just so hard.”

He opened his mouth to answer, but there was a sudden bang as the door into the shop flew open, and then he heard Arthur shouting his name. 

Lizzie opened the door and stepped out of the way to let him through to where his older brother was standing, chest heaving and eyes half wild with excitement and bloodlust. 

“We found him. We found the fucking gardener. He was in a pub near the edge of our territory.”

There was a sudden roaring in Tommy’s ears, a rush of hope that he grabbed and clung onto with both hands. “Where is he?”

“Charlie’s yard.” Arthur grinned. “Figured that you’d want to talk to him yourself.”

Tommy nodded. “Right, you stay here with them,” he nodded over to the women in the shop. “Keep our men looking in case they find Lucy before the gardener gives up where they took her. Get ahold of Aberama. Tell him that I want you, him, and Bonnie all ready to move out soon as we know where she is. Then call Finn, Isiah, and Jeremiah. I want them here guarding the shop. Then come join me at the yard.”

“Right,” Arthur moved around him towards the phones. “You think you’ll be able to crack him?”

Tommy didn’t reply, instead just going to pull on his coat. “Come to the yard soon as you can.” 

Opening the door, he stepped out into the cool night air. As he tugged his black leather gloves on, his thumb rubbed across the diagonal scar that still marked his palm. Even all these years later, he could still remember the bite of the blade slicing through his flesh, the warmth of his and Lucy’s blood mixing as they pressed their palms together. 

A blood bond. As sacred–some said even more so–than marriage. 

Just hang on, he thought, closing his eyes, trying to reach out to her through the bond that connected them. Hoping by some miracle that she could hear him. Just hang on, sweetheart. I’m almost there. 

I’m coming for you.

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[padmestrilogy]

Do you know any good sources for behind the scenes stuff for A New Hope? I’m doing a big project on the making of Star Wars and wanted to make sure I was getting stuff right. I know Empire of Dreams but was wondering if there was anything else that would be good.

there’s also “light and magic” which tells the story of a new hope’s vfx team (genuinely good watch, very funny, and less lucas-heavy than “empire of dreams”). jw rinzler’s “making of star wars” book series is known for going in-depth on each film. i haven’t read through all of them but he’s the gold standard for star wars historians, and you can find his anh book on the internet archive.

other, optional recs:

“the star wars archives episodes iv-vi” by paul duncan: these are beautiful, informative books that are also quite expensive and look at full trilogies as opposed to just a new hope. i can’t find any 🏴‍☠️ link, presumably because scanning a big glossy volume like that takes time.

“the secret history of star wars”: a mammoth of a book. maybe more controversial in fandom for its central thesis (lucas & co made stuff up as they went along) (shocker), its the product of a head-spinning amount of research, and though it goes into the production of every single star wars film, there’s tons of stuff on anh in there. x

“skywalking: the life and films of george lucas”: a really great biography of george, written on the set of “return of the jedi”, one of the most unbiased looks at him that was still published. you can get it dirt cheap at thriftbooks.

carrie fisher’s memoirs: these are great and frequently heartbreaking reads. she was simply a fantastic writer. i have to rec them. x x x

bonus: i’ve heard really good stuff about “star wars: the annotated screenplays”, have not caught up to that one in my reading list though

[gffa]

hi Lumi, your posting about star wars books made me want to start reading them, which ones would you recommend?

Hi! There are a lot of Star Wars books out there and there's a lot I enjoy about them! Sure, I'll give a warning that I'm picking out the best moments and a lot of the books are not always great in their entirety, especially depending on how much you want to stay 100% true to Lucas' story.

A lot is going to depend on what you're looking for--are you a prequels fan? Are you more interested in original trilogy books? Jedi-centric books? Bounty hunters or pilots instead? Etc. Generally, I assume if you're asking me, you're here for the prequels books, but I have a more generalized list of recommendations here or you can browse my novels recs tag.

But I always generally recommend starting with: - Revenge of the Sith novelization by Matthew Stover isn't a perfect book, I could nitpick some details here and there, but the heart of this book remains unchallenged as the best SW book there is, imo. It elevates the story it's adapting (already a high bar for me, I love ROTS), Stover knows how to turn a phrase to dig deep into a character's motivations, and there's a reason why we're all constantly quoting that book. It adds so much to the story and it's a compelling tale on its own, it makes me love the characters and hurt for them all over again, and there's approximately a thousand lines in this story that you could write an entire essay on.

- Padawan by Kiersten White cannot dethrone the ROTS novelization, but I would say that I think it wound up being my favorite of the Disney era books, because it's such a straight shot to my id. It's definitely on the lighter side, it's a happier look at Obi-Wan's childhood (which I think fits his character better), he struggles and has a lot going on, but overall he's pretty well-adjusted and happy, plus there is an absolute ABUNDANCE OF CUTENESS in this book, it was so delightful and whimsical and adorable, it just made me happy.

- Light of the Jedi by Charles Soule if you're at all interested in The High Republic. This is still my favorite book of the entire series, I think it set the stage incredibly well, it had some absolutely banger lines for someone with prequels brainrot like me, and genuinely made me excited for the entire line-up.

- Dooku: Jedi Lost by Cavan Scott, which is an audiodrama but has a script version available if you're hoh or just don't like them. It's a solid look at Dooku's time as a youngling and why he left the Jedi Order and backstory with Sifo-Dyas that'll break your heart. I prefer the audio version here because the Asajj framing works so much better with the actress' voicework, it really digs into her feelings about all of this as well, making it a nice gut-punch of a story.

And now I would add Padawan's Pride by Brian Q. Miller (audiobook only, unfortunately) because it's a lovely, charming look at Anakin's time as an apprentice. It's very deliberately written as a lead-in to the Obi-Wan & Anakin comic (which I think you're supposed to be keeping in mind as you read, so I'd suggest reading in release order rather than chronological order), showing the conflict between Obi-Wan and Anakin, between Anakin the Jedi way of life, yet all the love that's growing there and the hope that they weren't wrong to hold onto. Just the right amount of crunch and sweet.

I recently read The Living Force by John Jackson Miller and, while I have a couple of issues with it (it was less spiritual than I'd like, some clunky "attachment" discourse moments that clash against Lucas' definitions, etc.), overall it was a book I loved. It was laugh out loud funny at several moments, it showed the Jedi as deeply caring, it gave time and page space to Jedi who don't usually get much focus, it had some knockout administrative worldbuilding details, and a genuinely fun experience of a story.

There are more that I personally loved (Force Collector was really good for me but not an easy one to recommend, The Legends of Luke Skywalker was very dear to me for being so in love with the galaxy far, far away, Obi-Wan & Anakin: Choose Your Destiny is a Choose Your Adventure style book that's not going to be for everyone but I adored and got so much out of, that's where Theater Nerd Mace Windu came from, the first and third From a Certain Point of View anthologies had 3-4 incredible stories in them each, the ESB one didn't impress me, etc.) and a lot of comics that I think are just as good to read if you haven't started on those, but I think this is a good starting place for prequels nerds.

(I stuck mostly to Disney continuity, it's what I'm more familiar with, and the only Legends books I fully recommend are Revenge of the Sith novelization and Dark Rendezvous, not even my beloved Wild Space comes without a bunch of caveats, but if you're interested in Legends, let me know!)

[melanielocke]

Book recommendations: queer adult SFF

It's been a while since I did one of these posts but I'm thinking of doing more regularly. I have read a lot more new books that I hope some of you will pick up and I've made another selection. I'm reading more and more adult SFF lately because lots of YA is getting a little too young for me. But I also find that transitioning to reading more adult can be difficult, and it's not always easy to find what you're looking for. I found YA a far easier market to navigate, so I figured I'd make a post featuring some of my favorite adult SFF books.

The Unbroken & the Faithless I read recently.

This is a trilogy, with book 3 coming out most likely in 2025? Not sure actually. The series focuses on Touraine and Luca. Touraine is a conscript in the Balladaire army, stolen from her homeland and trained to fight from a young age. She is originally from Qazal, a country colonized by Balladaire, but doesn't speak their language or understand their customs. In the first book, she returns home for the first time since she was taken, to stop a Qazali rebellion.

Luca is the princess of Balladaire. Her parents both died when she was young, and her uncle is ruling as regent, refusing to allow her to be crowned Queen until she proves herself. She too is sent to deal with the Qazali rebellion. What makes Luca interesting is that she often means well and is definitely more benevolent towards the Qazali, but she's also very power hungry and wants her throne, and no matter how much she does to help the Qazali she is still the princess of the empire that colonized them, and the author continues to hold her accountable for her role in the empire and some of the choices she makes.

Luca is also disabled, she injured her leg when she was young and uses a cane.

There is a sapphic romance between Luca and Touraine. It is not really the focus on the series but at the same time it is what shapes much of the negotiating between them since Luca has a very obvious soft spot for Touraine and Touraine has to use that to improve things for Qazal.

The world is inspired by North Africa and French colonialism (in Balladaire they speak French so I'm pretty sure they're supposed to be France), and the author themself is Black and North African. The series as a whole is very political.

Next is Notorious Sorcerer by Davinia Evans

This is the first in a duology (I think?) with book 2 coming out this November.

This is set in a world where there are four different planes, and Siyon is a poor man who can delve into the different planes to get ingredients for wealthier alchemists. He wants to be an alchemist himself but can't afford the education. There's also the problem of magic being technically illegal, which means rich people can do alchemy but poor people can't.

Then one day Siyon accidently unleashes wild magic and is thrust into the world of alchemists where he wants to belong but doesn't. And there's also the matter of the four planes being instable and at risk of collapsing, and Siyon might be the only one capable of stopping it.

Siyon is bi/pan and his main love interest is a man, though this is not the main focus of the series.

Then Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh

I think I had this one last time too, but not enough people are reading it so I'm going to discuss it again.

Check out the summary, but honestly not sure if that does it justice. Some Desperate Glory is the story of a girl who grew up in a fascist cult and was raised to believe in everything this cult stands for.

The earth was destroyed before she was born, and the Majo, aliens, were responsible. Kyr has been training her entire life for revenge. She wants nothing more than to be the perfect soldier for earth. As a result, she is a terrible person and everyone hates her.

Kyr first starts questioning Gaea station when she is assigned nursery to have babies even though she is the best fighter in her mess. When her brother disappears, she teams up with his friend Avi, a queer genius who works with the station's systems and was always aware of how fucked up Gaea station is. They discover Magnus has been sent on a suicide mission and go after him, and Kyr is confronted with the outside world, including a Majo she grows close to, and has to unlearn everything Gaea station taught her.

This book has a difficult to stomach mc at first, though it is very obvious what she believes is not what you as the reader are supposed to think. But there is some wonderful character development going on in here. It's hard for her to change, and she's thrown into lots of difficult situations before she gets there, but in the end you can see she's nothing like the person she was before.

There's an amazing cast of side characters, though not a very big cast. There's her twin brother Magnus who never wanted to be a soldier and is actually very depressed, which Kyr never noticed. Yiso, the cute non binary alien Kyr develops a weak spot for even before she comes to realize Majo are people. And my personal favorite, Avi, who is an unhinged little guy who is way too smart for his own good. He's a great example of how a cult can affect different people in different ways. He doesn't believe in Gaea station like Kyr does and is aware of how fucked up he is, he experienced that first hand as the only visible queer person on the station. But he did internalize their messages of revenge and violence which plays out in interesting ways.

This edition is the Illumicrate edition of the book from April's box, which has the UK cover.

Witch King by Martha Wells is next

This is a confusing book for people who do not have a lot of experience reading adult fantasy. It has a lot of world building that is explained gradually, the book doesn't really hold your hand, so be prepared for that.

Kai is a body hopping demon. He has been betrayed, killed and entombed under water. When he is freed by a lesser mage hoping to hone his power, he kills them and frees himself and his friend, the witch Ziede.

Together, they have to uncover what happened to them, who betrayed them and what is going on with the Rising World coalition. He's not going to like the answers.

Alternating is a past timeline in which Kai and his band of allies rebel against the tyrannical rule of the Hierophants, which happened decades before the present timeline.

The strenght of this book is really in the characters and how they grow and the bonds they have with each other. I loved the relationship between Kai and Bashasa, who is the rebel leader in the past timeline in particular. It's not quite clear what the nature of their relationship was, though it is implied to be romantic and I do think Kai is supposed to be queer. He is a body hopping demon after all, and spends his early life in the body of a girl. There's also a sapphic side pairing between Zieden and her wife Tahren, who they spent much of the present timeline looking for.

The Dawnhounds by Sascha Stronach

This is a science fantasy set in a world inspired by New Zealand and Maori (I think? The author is Maori and a trans woman herself)

The main character is a police officer from a poor background who believes she's making the world better for people like her. She's already been demoted for being queer but believes she can make the police force better from the inside.

Then she's murdered by fellow officers and thrown into the harbor. Unfortunately for them, she comes back from the dead with new magic powers.

She teams up with a pirate crew with similar powers and has to stop a plague from being unleashed on her city.

This book focuses on how police functions in many modern societies to protect the wealthy and harm and restrict poorer, non white communities. The main character doesn't believe this at first but it's obvious to the reader that they're not helping anyone doing their job. Next book is coming out next year.

Last is the Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri

Two books are out and book 3 is coming sometime in 2024.

This series is set in a world inspired by India. Priya is a maidservant with a secret. She is one of the few surviving temple children and still has some powers from being once born.

Malini is the princess of Parijatdvipa, the empire that conquered Priya's land. Her religious zealot brother has taken the throne and imprisons Malini because she refuses to be burned alive.

Priya is one of the maidservants sent to take care of Malini in her prison, which is the old temple where Priya grew up. Together, they can change the fate of an empire, but they can never quite trust each other.

This is a sapphic fantasy with magic but also lots of politics and I think if you like this series you'd also like the Unbroken and vice versa. I've talked about this one before but it should definitely be included on a list for adult fantasy.

I hope you can find something you like on here. All these books are not super well known and deserve a bigger audience

@alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @life-through-the-eyes-of @astriefer @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @amchara @all-for-the-fanfiction @imsoftforthomastair @ddepressedbookworm @queenlilith43 @wagner-fell @cant-think-of-anything @laylax13s @tessherongraystairs @boredfangirl16 @artist-in-soul @aliandtommy @ikissedsmithparker

[writersundersiege]

The New Girl In Town Pt. 4

Rafe Cameron x F! Reader

Summary: Rafe gets a surprise visit from someone special who invites him to come to spend time hunkered down for the hurricane; what happens when things don’t go as planned? What will Rafe do when he can’t seem to get to you?

To read any other parts of this series, click here:

The New Girl in Town - Masterlist

MDNI 18+

Warnings: Grief, drug use, swearing, the insinuation of sexual themes

a/n: this is mostly fluff and some more character development; I promise you there is a significant Rafe x Reader chapter coming up if you know you know :) Things are going to start getting mixed up. I hope you guys enjoy it; please feel free to comment or send any requests, etc.

————————————————————————

The evening went as planned on the account you had planned the event. Rafe wasn’t going to allow any mishaps simply for you. Other than Rafe and Ethan evil-eyeing each other the entire evening without speaking to each other. Jason stood between them, with Ally next to Ethan, and to Jason’s right was Kiara and Kayla; on the other side of them, Rafe stood handing out shirts to boys and girls with their parents. Rafe and Jason paid no mind to the kid, who was trying to pull the conversation and attention to him to no avail; he only attracted Sarah and Topper's attention. By the end of the evening, and when the clothes were almost all gone, Jason gathered what was left to bring back to the country club donations box. The group sounded small goodbyes and separated from each other to the cars they drove in.

Halfway to the jeep, Jason asks Rafe a weird question for someone you’ve barely known: “What is it about my sister, man?” Rafe's head perked up at this question, looking at him, wide eyes shaking his head. “I don’t know what you mean…” Jason looked down, flipping the keys around his fingers till he reached the car trunk. “I was trying so hard to tune Ethan out, but one thing he said while we worked out there that track it was that no matter where (F/N) went back home or around the world, guys chase her; they always want her affection and attention, they expect so much of my sister, and she expects nothing in return, same with girls; girls think so little or think so much of her I can’t imagine how she doesn’t feel like a butterfly behind a glass” he looks down into the box of jeans “My sister is worth so much more then what all these people want from her and the worst part is-“ Jason looks up at Rafe water welled eyes “I don’t know if she’ll ever stop chasing the wave Luca rides, with him she looked his way and never looked back.”

Rafe looks at Jason and doesn’t know what to say to this level of emotion, but he says the only thing he thinks will click; he hopes he doesn’t come off as an ingenue. “She’s still young; eventually, she’ll know. We all ride our waves of life, and I think she knows that more than you give her credit for.” Jason nods, the brightness seeping back into the boy across from him.

As they hop into the car and Jason starts to drive them back to the country club, he says to try and lighten the mood more, “So strike out at all?” Jason chuckles with a devilish smirk, shaking his head in triumph. “two snap chats added and the one Ally she already asked when I’ll be back again from college.” Rafe laughs, knowing he’s about to play the run around with two kooks.

Jason drops Rafe by his bike, and Rafe quickly heads back home for the first time. Rafe is exhausted from social interaction with others as well; on top of that, community service was not standardized practice for Rafe, so the nice guy act drained him. As soon as he enters his front door, Ward is rounding the corner at him, already jumping his case. “Where were you? I told you that we needed to place sandbags, and you need to set up generators; there is supposed to be a hurricane tomorrow evening.”

Rafe quickly satiates his father's anger by saying, “I was helping with the clothing drive at the country club; it’ll be done tomorrow morning.” Ward looked pleased but turned back towards the kitchen, saying nothing but, “Don’t forget Rafe, I'm serious, or we’ll be as good as none on power tomorrow.” He’s rolling his eyes behind his dad's back, heading up the stairs, and it slowly hits him

Rafe's heart dropped, remembering you asked him to surf with you tomorrow; indeed, you had to know that was happening; it’s been all over the local news. Most of the beach will be dead, but there will be people preparing for flooding near there; he makes it to his room and throws himself on his bed, thinking maybe you didn’t want actually to hang out, and you were just the giving the type of person your brother described you as. It was just for pity, he thought to himself, a conversation filler.

Rafe removes all those thoughts from his head and hops in the shower, washing his body and hair quickly before jumping out and drying off, throwing on some pajama pants, and hopping into bed. Rafe turned on some alarms and laid down and closed his eyes, ready to sleep, and he heard a ping on his phone; he groaned and leaned over to grab it, opening his eyes to see you had messaged him

F/N🌊💕: You said Tannyhill anytime, right?

Rafe's eyes went wide, wondering and trying to formulate any reason you would be texting him this at nearly 11:45 pm the night before you; one was supposed to be sick, two were supposed to hang out later, and three had not formally had a sit-down conversation, but Rafe doesn’t think twice sending you his location and replying

Rafe: Anytime Angel

You immediately responded with a picture of the front of Tannyhill, which makes Rafe sit up in his bed pin straight, and jump out of bed like the sheets were on fire; he threw on a shirt and bounded down the stairs, not caring if anyone woke up he threw open the front door and there you were just like the first time he saw you except albeit a little paler

You waved at him and started walking towards stopping just at the edge of the front patio stairs quietly and shyly, saying, “Hello, Rafe, this is quite a magnificent house you have here.” He chuckles at you, thinking it’s so admirable not only the words you choose but that you are as shy as you are around when he feels like he’s known you forever. He leans in the door frame, looking down at you like he was looking out at the stars earlier that night in the car window. “ It’s alright, it’s home for now.”

This comment makes you look down, twisting your shoe in the dirt and looking at your hand clasped before you. Rafe doesn’t talk; he stands and watches; you almost seem to run a marathon of thoughts through your head before you finally say, “ So I’m technically supposed to be on best rest; they think I have the flu, but I'm not sure” You’re still looking down at your feet “So I realized last minute my idea is shit and I mean there is the storm and my family we do these things we’re like—-“ she cuts herself off again huffing in annoyance.

Rafe chuckles and takes a step closer on the porch, not close enough to touch her but enough that he can make out every single little mark and crease on your face when your face frowns; he smiles and says, “Did you come up with a better idea, angel, because I said tell me where and I’ll be there.” it seems like this sentence gave you confidence “come to my house tomorrow my family does what we call a storm watch and id love to have dad will take you home and pick up no trouble or you can hang with josh, either way, I want you there if you want to be?”

You immediately look at your feet again. Rafe grins from ear to ear, saying, “Sound good,” and your head shoots up. “Um, great, so come over tomorrow around three; let me know if you need Dad to come get you.” With that, Rafe watches as you scurry halfway back to your car before he sees your back turn and your bright, smiling face bounding towards him.

Once you finally make it to where you stood, just a moment before you hurry up the steps right in front of Rafe, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug, he slowly wraps his arms around your petite frame, scared that he touches you too hard right now, you may dissolve into dust. You nuzzle your head into his shoulder, almost whispering, “Thank you for being there this time, Rafe. I needed it.” Rafe smiles down at you in his arms, shaking his head. “You never need to thank me (F/N); you call me there.” You smile, nestling yourself further into Rafe; he wraps his arms tighter around you.

Finally, after what felt like only a sliver of a moment for Rafe, you pulled away and reached up on your tiptoes, placing a soft kiss on the apple of his cheek, immediately making Rafe's neck burn red hot. You smiled shyly, which this time made Rafe shake. Knowing you, of all people, the girl the whole island knew in less than a week as the bubbly Cali girl who is highly wanted by many, not just Kooks, but you have people back home who won’t let you go, and you are nervous around Rafe; the town no good, heartbreaking, psycho, and you’re shy. Are you scared of him? Have you heard around town what people say?

All of these thoughts were wiped from Rafe's mind when you looked up at him with the same wide eyes and bright look he saw on your face the day at Toppers' house when you moved in; you looked at him like he was a giant wave on the coastline coming in and you’re ready for the colliding of the two trying to decide; will you ride the wave or will it wipe you out and drag you down throwing you back and forth while you try and claw back to the surface.

You clear your throat and say, “See you tomorrow, Reef. Sleep well.” Rafe chuckles at the nickname you’ve called him twice; he hates to admit it’s clever, and he thinks he likes it when you say but only cause it fits you; he says, “Yeah, see you tomorrow.” Watching as you jog back over to your Blue Jeep when Rafe squints his eyes slightly past the glow from lights in Tannyhill, he sees a figure sitting in the passenger taking a few steps on the porch, watching you as you climb in and the person points at Rafe you close the door quickly and put your hands up like you’re approaching a wounded animal. The person seems to calm by whatever you say to them, and the face turns back to Rafe, and he can see the curls and scowl that he memorized the other night.

Ethan is sitting in the front seat, face turned to him, but he traces your figure with your hand on his cheek, similar to how your mom reacted to Rafe at the country club. The boy in the car looks back at you, shaking his head and smiling, turning his face to try and kiss your palm. Still, you quickly remove it and ruffle his hair, saying something to make him smile at you, then you turn on the car and look up, and that’s when Rafe waves not at him but only at you; you smile and wave quickly and reverse out of the drive of Tannyhill making your way towards town instead of back to your house.

Rafe stands a moment, thinking of following you; what he knows about Ethan is unnerving, but he knows the kid is leaving soon, so he wants to hope that if something is wrong, Jason will tell him, or maybe you would. You’re also stronger now than back then; with that, he turns back into the house with your Jeep nowhere in his view.

On Rafe's way up the stairs, he heard Ward yell, “Be more mindful of people sleeping; you woke up Rose with all the running on the stairs.” This makes the boy roll his eyes and close his door, throwing himself back in bed and staring at the ceiling, thinking about you and your adventures and the mystery that seems to be you.

Rafe didn’t sleep any that night; he stayed up trying to see if maybe your brother or you would message him, and he didn’t receive anything until 8 o’clock the following day, and it was from you.

(F/N)🌊💕: Don’t Forget Today! 3 pm; let me know if you need a ride; it’s pretty windy already, and we’ll be storm prepping at The Hut and Wreck! Let me know

Rafe 🪸: Yeah, that’s fine. I wouldn’t mind riding with your dad; keep my bike out of the water. I’ll see you at three; I have to storm prep here; see you soon, angel ❤️

Rafe lays his phone down with alarms set for two just in case, closing his eyes and finally sleeping for the first time in nearly a whole day, knowing that you’re okay and things are set for today.

By two o’clock that day, Rafe was waking up from the alarm he set to get ready; this had him yanking himself from bed and dragging himself to the shower. He turns on the shower, lets the water get hot, and gets in washing his body to wake himself up, enabling the water to run down his chest and back; he stands there for about 15 to 25 minutes till the water starts losing heat. He turns off the shower, throws a towel around himself, and heads to his closet; as soon as he’s finished putting on a pair of sweatpants and a softer t-shirt, he heads to his room, grabbing his other essentials when he hears someone clear their throat behind them.

Sarah stands leaning on the door, a devilish smirk on her face, staring back at Rafe, eyebrow raised in question. “First thing I want to say is you’re pathetic. The only reason you were oh-so-helpful last night is cause you want that girl. What happened to the, and I quote it, playing a dumb philanthropist act, which leads to the second thing I want to say is, you know she’s too good for you, right?” This makes Rafe so annoyed. Sarah constantly demeans Rafe; he walks over, saying, “Shut the fuck up, Sarah, at least I don’t play nice when I’m not; people know how I am; that is no secret, but who are you really behind the surface Sarah.” he says pointing to her and slightly nudging her out of his door frame as he grabs the handle “And for your information I went yesterday for her, and I know she’s too good for me, but maybe I’m exactly what she needs.” That being said, Rafe closes the door on Sarah’s face, locks the door, finishes fixing his hair, and prepares to leave.

Suddenly, his phone is buzzing, and it’s another Unknown number; he assumes it is your dad; he quickly answers, saying, “Rafe Cameron speaking?” he hears your dads chuckling through the phone. “I’m in front of your giant white house, as my daughter described it.”

Rafe looks out the window and sees your dad's happy face sticking out the side of the car. Rafe runs down the stairs and out the front door of Tannyhill, running to the side of a gorgeously renovated 1965 Chevy Impala; your dad was stepping out of the driver's side. “Rafe, hello, nice to see you again, my boy,” he pats Rafe on the back while shaking his hand. Rafe replies with a smile. “Always good to see you, sir, and this is a beautiful car you have here.” pointing to the car behind them, your dad started to smile from ear to ear.

Charlie runs his hand on the hood and looks at Rafe. “This was the car that we kept at Lenny’s house; that was Luca's dad; his parents moved here after everything Lenny, me, and all the boys renovated; this beauty was meant to be for the boys to share; it'll be Jason’s one day” your dad looks longingly at the car “I’m sorry sir I didn’t mean—“ your dad puts his hand up “no it’s all happy memories my boy, here” your dad tosses the keys in the air which Rafe catches like a crystalline glass that was about to shatter they key landing gently in his palm “you drive,” your dad says with a smirk.

Rafe's eyes go wide immediately, looking back and forth between your dad and the keys. “a-are you sure, sir?” your dad laughs a deep, hardy laugh, shaking his head, saying once again, “Rafe call me Charlie and of course my boy you were the first one to show my sweet, sweet girl the kindness here so this is the kindness I will show you to enjoy the drive, and I will sit back and enjoy the ride.” 

Before Rafe can say anything else, your dad walks around and climbs into the passenger seat with his arm out the window, ready for the ride, just like he said.

Rafe scurries around to the other side and hops in the driver's seat, gently turning on the car and starting to reverse down the drive. Once on the road, Rafe was going exactly the speed limit using his blinkers, trying to drive as safely as possible. All of sudden, your dad mock yawns and says, “C’mon Rafe, where’s all this fire I hear about? You seem a prolonged driver here.” he bumps him in the shoulder with a smile that makes Rafe smile back cause he can tell he’s trying to get him to let loose he chuckles a little and says “would you like me to drive as I would normally Charlie?” your dad looks forward relaxing back like he’s in a tanning chair “Whatever floats your goat there Rafe and maybe whatever will get us to the wife’s three-layer queso quicker” the man in the passenger seat looks up humming in delight thinking about his wife’s cooking.

Rafe laughs and proceeds to press the gas a little quicker and drive like he would just by himself; he thinks about how smooth the acceleration is and how the turns are quick and easy to take. Before he knows it, he sees Topper’s balconies and basketball hoop, and all of a sudden, he sees your blue two-story house with an indoor wrap-around porch. He pulls into the driveway and sees your Jeep; he parks behind it and turns the ignition off.

Rafe and your dad hop out, and your dad starts heading to the garage door, waving Rafe his way. “C’mom, the girls have been making snacks all day for annual storm watch, and let me tell you (F/N) makes some mean homemade granola bars; you’ll just have to see them and the queso, oh the queso always the queso,” your dad cries out at the end.

By this point, they're in the kitchen, Rafe trailing behind Charlie, heading straight to a crockpot. Rafe stops at the end of the island to see tons of snacks: dried fruit, a stack of, like your dad said, homemade granola bars that looked like they had nuts, tiny little chocolate chips, and what looked like some kettle chips and popcorn that were yet to be opened.

Your mom came around the corner almost to appear from thin air, scolding your dad, “Charlie, that is not for you. I'm dropping that off at the school tonight for families staying in shelter from the storms.” Charlie leans against the counter with a smile, eating out of the small bowl he made; your mom rolls her eyes with a smile, pointing at him. “No more.”

Her eyes scan the kitchen, catching a glimpse of Rafe. “Rafe, oh hello,” she rushes over, patting him like he was her child and checking if he had any afflictions with someone since the last time she saw him, finally resting her hand on his cheek, smiling at him, looking at him “We are so happy you came to spend time with us,” he smiles back before he can say anything your mom is turning and waking to the stairs calling up to you “(F/N) Rafes here” all of a sudden they all here scuffling from upstairs like someone was running.

Then, after a few moments of waiting and nothing happened, she called again, “Jason, (F/N) Rafes here.” There was no response, and then they heard the thumping and bumping of feet down the stairs, but multiple sets of footsteps down the stairs as faces emerged instead of bubbling with happiness; you looked wholly petrified. Still perfect, but scared like you’ve seen a ghost, following not far behind you is Jason with an ear to the phone, words scrambling to the person on the other side. “don’t worry, we’ll be there in no time. Try to keep her calm. “ he hands the phone back to you, and you start to hyperventilate slightly, which causes Rafe to take a step towards you; your mother puts her hand on his shoulder to stop him because your brothers are already there his hands rubbing your shoulders and consoling you, Rafe hears you say in a small voice, “Just let her know I love her, and I’ll be there soon.” you hand the phone back to your brother and look up at your dad

“Lenny just called,” you said in a small voice; they almost couldn’t hear you over waves starting to crash behind your house; they were getting more prominent as the storm grew. “Diannas at the pier. She won’t leave. She says she swears she saw them..in the waves. We have to take her home before the storm gets bigger. “

You’re looking down at your shoes, strolling towards the door, and looking back to where Rafe is standing in the kitchen. “I’m so sorry, Rafe, I have to go, “before he knew it, the look shattered his heart and made his bones cold like you were in danger of something; he frowned, watching your back. You jog out the door, and Jason trailed behind you quickly.

Andrea and Charlie stand dumbfounded momentarily in the kitchen, staring at Rafe, who looks angry at what happened. Before anybody can say anything, Rafe tells your parents, “I just forgot I have somewhere to be. I’ll see you guys later.” Your parents try to stop him, but he is out and over into Topper's house quicker than they can catch him; your mom stands watching him go in Topper's garage door before turning around and returning inside.

Rafe only stays at Toppers long enough to sit on his bed. At the same time, he plays some game on his PlayStation while Rafe sits and waits for an Uber back to Tannyhill; when he eventually arrives home, first he quickly runs upstairs and checks his dad isn’t home and grabs some of the little bit of cash left from the generators, he quickly grabs his bike and heads straight to Barry’s house to get a fix.

If anything can ruin his day, it is the fact that he always seems to have you right in front of him, and just like a bird set out for a migration flight, you were gone before anyone noticed you were there. It doesn’t matter what he does; he feels as though he can’t get close to you, and when he does, something else seems to come in the way, like when you’re trying to climb a tall rock wall, and you’re right at the top. The second you make it there, your arms give out because of how far you’ve come; he doesn’t want to give up and let his arms weigh him down. He wants you so bad that it nearly kills him.

Pulling up to Barry’s house, he bangs on the trailer door, hitting it hard. It shakes the door frame until Barry swings the door open, saying, “What the fuck, Country Clu—“Looking up, seeing rich boy Rafe with eyes red-rimmed, hair messy, and slightly wet from the drizzle that started. He looks him up and down, looking at how disheveled he looks, and says, “What do you need, bro?”

Rafe looks at him and grunts in a lowly voice that seems like he’s been screaming at a concert, gruff and almost gone. “Same as usual.” Barry leaves the door open and runs back, grabbing a baggie with a few grams and taking it back. “Here it’s going to be—“ Rafe puts the cash in his hand, taking the baggie, not listening to anything, heading straight home.

When Rafe got home, he spent the rest of the night listening to music and getting nigh watching as the storm raged on until he got a message from Emma, a girl he was hooking up with in the fall, who said she was at her friend Ambers who happened to live next to Tannyhill and asked if he wanted her to hang out a bit he typed sure and in less then an hour Rafe laid with a girl halfway on top of him kissing his next. At the same time, he stares at the ceiling, thinking about how wrong today went to what he planned.

By the following day, Emma was gone as Rafe asked her to be when he woke up; it was the arrangement: they sleep with him, and they leave before he’s awake; when he checked his phone, he saw a message from you that made him forget anything that happened yesterday.

(F/N)🌊💕: I am sorry I ran out on you; Mom said she wanted to ask you to stay for dinner, and when we returned with Dianna and Lenny, they said you had to go. I hope I didn’t disappoint you and also, Sarah invited me to the Kegger at the boneyard tonight. Hopefully, I’ll see you there?!

As he sat and thought, he decided it would be best to play the chase with you; if he can’t get a chance to be near you, maybe he can get you to seek him out on your own like the other night.

Rafe 🪸: Wish I could, angel. I have things I need to do tonight. I’ll see you soon, I promise 😉

Guilt slowly starts to bubble within Rafe; he should have never hooked up with Emma; you could hear about it, but at this point, he has to play the complex game; he needs you to notice him and want him. All of these thoughts die down when he receives a message with a picture of you smiling from ear to ear, holding your hand up in the shaka hand gesture, and Jason standing behind the same bright smile as you, doing the same thing with a message saying

(F/N)🌊💕: Good, the (L/N) family is holding you to it. Be safe, and see you soon, Reef 🪸🫡❤️

Rafe smiles at the picture in front of him, looking at how happy you look and just yearning to feel your joy and encase himself in the brightness you seem to emit.

————————————————————————

All rights belong to the owners of Netflix and the Outer Banks. I do not own any characters except OC characters. The fiction is simply for fun. All copyrights belong to the original owners.

[lowkeyed1]

great interview, definitely some info i haven't seen anywhere else... ----- ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: I don't think you could end the show without losing someone, but how did you decide it would be Graydon as opposed to Airk, Boorman, or anyone else who's life was in imminent danger?

JONATHAN KASDAN: There was some conversation about that. But we all felt that there was something beautifully tragic about Graydon, and as a character, he is our Dark Prince. We always called him the Dark Prince in our construction of the show. One of the questions we always had and hoped to keep alive to some extent throughout the season was, "Is he good or is he evil?" As the show progressed, he's pretty definitively good. His devotion to Elora was so pure, and the way he played those scenes was so lovely and tender. It felt like the thing that would most impel Elora into this final stage of her development was the loss of this completely devoted person. As is often the case with these decisions, and they're sometimes unpopular, sometimes you want the most devastating possible thing. And for her, he felt like that.

Now that Airk has come back to himself, is there any chance he and Elora would reconnect? Or is her heart fully with Graydon at this point?

She's not with either of them, frankly, at the moment. She's intent on taking a little break from the dating world entirely, and we'll see how she does with that. But conversely, Airk is not at all over her. In fact, she's only more attractive to him now that she's empress of the world and the most powerful sorcerer ever and has come into her power so fully. But I definitely think the bloom is off the rose for Elora.

If Elora hadn't changed her mind during that wedding ceremony, how bad would that have been for everyone else?

It would've been bad. One of the things that the movie set up that is a helpful bit of storytelling is this idea that this baby, they couldn't just like chuck her out the window and kill her, and that would be the end of it. There was something about her spirit that needed to be either extinguished or transported or moved in some way that made killing her not a good option, which is convenient as a storytelling device for the movie. They've got to get her back to the castle. She's going to be okay a little longer. But it's really helpful for us here in the series that there's something more at stake than simply, "Will she live or die?" There's something about her that is spirit. It's in line with George Lucas' philosophical, quasi-religious stuff about the Force. There's a great speech in Empire Strikes Back that I was just thinking about last night — that I'm sure my father wrote — which is that we're more than just this crude matter. We're celestial beings. There's something of Elora that is pure light, and it would've been really bad if he'd been able to suck that light out of her mouth.

Boorman gives his own reasoning for it, but why is Kit finally able to use the armor?

Kit's journey is about embracing responsibility. It's a very personal idea to me because I myself struggle with this very question of, "How much responsibility do I want to have? And family and who do I take responsibility for?" She's running away from that responsibility all season. In the end of the season, she finds herself moved by Elora and devoted to her, and above all the other characters, she is the one most equipped to protect her, spiritually and emotionally. Metaphorically, Elora represents the natural spirit of the world, and Kit represents our human role in that. She goes from being very selfish to very generous. It's that journey that makes her worthy of the armor.

We do see Willow and Elora defeat the Crone, but I take it, if you have your druthers that their fight is far from over?

Absolutely. It was always designed to be a three-act story. These things have to have a finite end to them. Because as a fan of these stories, I don't want to think that creators are just continuing it as long as they can to make a buck. It's nice in this day and age where there's an appetite from these streaming services for stories that do continue but aren't endless. This was very much designed and intended that this would be the first part of the story about Elora coming into her power, and then she would have to contend with darker forces beyond that.

They do end this with the charred remnants of Willow's staff and Elora's wand broken. How much is that going to be an obstacle to them? Will they need to repair those things?

You really hit on something with the staff question, and it's been something we've talked about a lot in the writer's room. It was a very intentional decision for Willow to sacrifice the conduit for his power to save Airk. We wanted him to give something up that was meaningful. It felt like a fun way to enter potentially future stories where he doesn't have that way of expressing the magic in himself and to have that be a challenge that he has to overcome.

Early in the show, we see Willow say a prophecy claims Elora Danan has to die. We saw her make it through this time, but should we still be worried about that?

Absolutely. The Crone is the Wyrm's agent. She's this talent agent, she goes out, she makes the deals, she tries to recruit the people. She's the producer, but she's not the talent herself. The Wyrm is the thing. And that dark force that presses against the light is still very much out there in the world to be contended with.

When we get to those final moments of the season, Graydon seems to be waking up on this battlefield that we've seen in Willow's nightmares. Is that accurate?

It's so accurate that the moment we finished shooting Warwick standing up in that battlefield, we were like, "Okay, get Warrick out of there, throw Tony in." We were racing the clock to do it. And Tony was in position not 10 seconds after Warwick had vacated it.

The final battle really reminded me visually of the Harry Potter wand duels. How much of a visual reference point was that for you?

Huge. There's the promise of a lot of things in that final scene. But the big one for me is that in a character like Elora, much like Luke Skywalker or Harry Potter, there is the potential for incredible good and incredible darkness. We wanted to complicate the meaning of that a little bit over the course of the season and not have such hard and fast concepts of good and evil. Particularly Star Wars has a very clear bad guys-good guys thing, and we've made it much more in our series about desires versus ideals and the conflict between those two forces within ourselves. Certainly, that conflict is alive in Elora. The temptation of what the Wyrm represents is powerful. Ellie communicates it in this almost ecstatic way that she plays out the battle with the Crone. It's terrifying and hard, but it's also clearly getting her off a little bit (laughs). We really wanted to play on that and unequivocally with that final scene, stay with the fact that the potential for something really bad is in her too. Something really rather destructive is in her too.

Should we interpret that final version of Elora that Graydon sees as her potential alternate path?

Yes. And as the clear statement of intention by the bad guy.

You said before you'd like to have Val Kilmer appear in a second season.

There's nothing I would like more. The world is unpredictable, but certainly the runway has been laid for him, and we'd love it.

But you did have Christian Slater as a guest star. Is there another 1980s heartthrob you'd love to have on the show?

I'm a huge Billy Zane fan. If I could find a way to use that man in Willow, I would be very pleased. He's under-appreciated, under-loved and brilliant. I'm not the only one who feels this way. He's done some great stuff lately. So I'm hopeful that he's someone we could use someday.

Hulu and Disney+ are a package deal, and with Reservation Dogs, there are now two Elora Danans in the Disney family. Is there some crossover potential there?

(Laughs) No, but we invited them all to the premiere. They weren't able to make it, but we are still fighting for an opportunity to have a coffee between our two Elora Danans. They need to sit and do a photo shoot together or something. It's too perfect. That show is unbelievably great. I would love to have Devery Jacobs guest star on the show. That would be a really fun idea.

Is there any news you could share on a potential season 2?

Only that I'm sitting in my office and continuing to plan and scheme. It's a strange time in the business. It's a transformative time for Disney. So, I couldn't tell you anything that felt certain, except that we're continuing to work on this with every intention of doing more.

Can you tease where you envision it going from here?

The events of the finale have to be dealt with in a meaningful way at the top of wherever the story goes and the implications of the trauma those events caused to our characters and where it lands each of them. I'd love to get these characters out of that desert. Beyond that, they're all looking at very clear conflicts that were deeply positioned in season 1. Specifically, with Jade, the question of her loyalties and where her politics are going to land her is at the forefront in our minds in terms of where that character can go and, and how she's torn between love and country a little bit. There's no shortage of directions that we'd love to explore, but at its core, it is about this conflict between this otherworldly entity and our heroes. And that's far from over.

[notjustjavierpena]

4AM (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A little peek into Hubby’s mind. I’m working on a longer piece but here’s a taste for the starving.

Summary: Javier reflects on fatherhood while comforting his son.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic, Javier loves his family, Javi POV, life with a tiny baby!!

Word count: 1.5k

4AM

It’s like clockwork when Lucas’ cries start echoing through the hallway in the early hours. Four in the morning and no sooner or later. You could set an alarm to wake you up at this point but each time there’s the slightest hope that it’s going to be at five the next time. 

You wake first. A moment later, you hear Javier wake up beside you with a sharp intake of air. He rubs his eyes with his thumb and index finger, “Whose turn is it?”

“It’s four a.m. He’s probably hungry,” you say with a groan and try desperately not to let your eyes close for too long, “Jesus, I’m tired.”

Lucas sounds desperate with how he sobs, hiccupping unhappily at not feeling either of you close yet. You feel bad for not having left your bed already, reaching for the covers to throw them to the side. Javier looks like he is just about to turn onto his other side but he sits up instead, “Let me. You just go back to sleep, baby. I’ll heat a bottle or bring him here if he’s hungry.”

He swings his legs out over the side of the bed, his movements slow with the kind of sleepiness that only comes from not waking up by oneself but rather being woken up by something or someone. 

“Javi,” you try to protest. 

“I mean it. Go back to sleep,” he stands up with a small noise, shuffling out of the room and down the hallway to avoid more protests from you. He works so much and you stay here with his infant son all day; it’s the least he can do. Plus, he wants to get all the quality time with his baby boy that he can, even when he’s miserable from sleep deprivation.

He stops and takes a deep breath right before pushing the door to Lucas’ nursery fully open. There’s a soft glow from the night light by the bed, a lamp shaped like a half-moon that shines a golden yellow over the crib to soothe. 

“Hola, mi amor (hello, my love),” he says when he leans over the side of the crib to look down at his wailing son. Lucas’ hair is dark and tousled much like his own, his eyes are big and brown but right now, his face is also tear-streaked and red from exhaustion to the point where it tugs at Javier’s heartstrings. He shushes gently as he scoops his infant into his hands with practiced ease, holding underneath his arms and supporting his head with his fingers. He bounces gently when he has Lucas cradled against his bare chest. In his head, Javier goes through his usual checklist to make the crying stop but he finds that his son is neither hungry, gassy, or in need of a diaper change. He tuts softly and paces the room to make him settle. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” He asks when the wails subside and turn into soft whimpering instead. The tiny hands on his chest curl up and as the sobbing stops, Lucas seems to find comfort in the familiar scent and warmth of his father. Javier kisses the top of his head, speaking gently while still bouncing carefully, “Don’t worry, I get those too sometimes but your mamá is right there with me when I do just like I am here with you. You’re always safe with us.”

Javier is floored each time he manages to soothe his baby boy. It’s a reminder that he is doing a great job despite all the doubts he had during your pregnancy, the introspection, and the constant fear that your softness hadn’t changed him enough after Colombia to be a good father. 

It seems so long ago since he was living an adrenaline-fuelled and cruel life miles away from the quiet suburban life he now leads in Texas. Sometimes, he even feels like everything that happened in Colombia are experiences that belong to a whole different person. This is even if there are still nights when he wakes up in a cold sweat, his whole body aching, feeling claustrophobic, and his poor old heart racing with memories of the things he's seen and done.

The hope of everything that he has with you had always existed beneath the layer of women and booze but Lucas is the true reason for letting go of his past. He doesn’t think he has ever felt so much fulfillment in anything until he held the tiny little boy against his chest for the first time and a nurse told him that he was a natural. He sobbed when you had gone to sleep, leaving him alone with your shared creation and he just couldn’t take his eyes off him. He doesn’t think he ever thought that his heart was capable of feeling so much unconditional love for anything. He still marvels at how his chest aches every time he looks into his son’s eyes.

Lucas has drifted off to sleep in his arms by now, breaths having slowed down and eyes having fluttered closed. Javier paces around the room for a few more minutes just to make sure, and then he walks back to the bassinet and gently lays the baby down on his back. 

However, as soon as Lucas loses the warmth of his father’s embrace, his eyes shoot open and the crying restarts. He writhes and hiccups and kicks the blanket off. 

Javier sighs softly but there’s a smile on his face as he does it. He picks him up once again and the routine starts over, “So that’s what you needed, huh? No llores. Estoy aquí. No voy a ningún lado (Don’t cry. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere)."

He is so tired as he promises this, eyelids burning from exhaustion when knows he doesn’t have to be up for another three hours and they could be spent on sleeping. It doesn’t reflect what he wants though because sleep is nothing compared to hearing those cries ebb out until they stop altogether. He feels triumphant each time. 

He walks to the corner of the room where an old and slightly weathered rocking chair stands. It used to be in his father’s home, more specifically on the back porch, but he received it as a gift after his pop found out he was going to be a grandfather. 

He slowly lowers himself into it. The gentle motion back and forth has Lucas falling asleep once again. Javier can feel his chest rise and fall in time with his son’s and it’s so soothing that he allows himself to relax. He closes his eyes, becomes aware of their synchronized heartbeats, and then passes out with the little bundle on top of him. 

In your bedroom, you wake up an hour later to pee only to find that Javier still hasn’t returned after getting up. You concentrate on listening for your baby’s cries but there is nothing to be heard. After going to the bathroom, your feet take you down the hall and into the nursery just in case Javier needs you to take over rocking your son for a while. 

You find them both fast asleep and it is a relief that there’s no distress after all. It makes you smile to see them like this, looking so alike despite the age difference between them. Tiptoeing across the floor to gently place a hand on Javier’s shoulder, you wake up your husband with the intention of not disturbing your son. He stirs at your touch and looks up at you with tired but content eyes. 

“Looks like you both fell asleep,” you whisper to him gently. Absent-mindedly, you stroke your hand up and down Lucas’ back. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Javier blinks sleepily, reaching up with one hand to rub his eye, “Seems like he didn’t need anything.” 

“Are you kidding me? That’s not true,” you cut him off with a shake of your head and a soft laugh, “He needed you.”

There’s a pause. Javier almost looks like he might drift off again. You carefully lift Lucas from his arms, “Let’s get you back to bed. Both of you.”

You lay Lucas back in his bassinet, rubbing his belly with the palm of your hand before tucking the blankets around him snugly. He stirs but only briefly and then settles back into a peaceful slumber, his tiny fingers curling around the edge of his covers.

Behind you, Javier has gotten up from his seat. You turn to him and wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both stand there in the soft glow of the nursery. It goes on for a minute or so, none of you saying anything. 

Together, you quietly leave the room. In bed, Javier holds you protectively in his embrace during the last few hours he has with you. He leans to kiss your lips tenderly, “Te quiero tanto, baby (I love you so much, baby).”

“Y yo a ti (I love you too),” you reply and earn him squeezing you even tighter, “Para siempre (forever).”

Being a first-time parent is hard, you know this, but it’s not as hard when four a.m. I love yous are involved.

.

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If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[ettawritesnstudies]

Since I couldn't accept all the applications for interviews, I wanted to shout out a couple of the titles that didn't make the cut! These don't quite fit my target audience but that being said, I think the indie community should have solidarity regardless of age category and genre, so I still want to help y'all with promotion however I can!

If you want to support some cool authors, you can check out their books here, and if you want to support me, you can watch through my playlist backlog of interviews. My channel isn't monetized yet but the watch hours certainly wouldn't hurt lol

If you want to see the lineup for the rest of the year, you can sign up for my newsletter! I'll be sharing the list at the end of the month!

Oak King Holly King by Sebastian Nothwell @nothwell

queer romantasy; historical fantasy; adult

Shrike, the Butcher of Blackthorn, is a legendary warrior of the fae realms. When he wins a tournament in the Court of the Silver Wheel, its queen names him her Oak King - a figurehead destined to die in a ritual duel to invoke the change of seasons. Shrike is determined to survive. Even if it means he must put his heart as well as his life into a mere mortal’s hands. Wren Lofthouse, a London clerk, has long ago resigned himself to a life of tedium and given up his fanciful dreams. When a medieval-looking brute arrives at his office to murmur of destiny, he’s inclined to think his old enemies are playing an elaborate prank. Still, he can’t help feeling intrigued by the bizarre-yet-handsome stranger and his fantastical ramblings, whose presence stirs up emotions Wren has tried to lock away in the withered husk of his heart. As Shrike whisks Wren away to a world of Wild Hunts and arcane rites, Wren is freed from the repression of Victorian society. But both the fae and mortal realms prove treacherous to their growing bond. Wren and Shrike must fight side-by-side to see who will claim victory - Oak King or Holly King.

Spirits and Sunflowers by A.D. Armistead @adarmisteadwrites

MM adult contemporary fantasy romance

Devastated by the recent death of his husband, Adrian has been relying upon his necromantic gifts to try and bridge the gap between the living and the dead, feeling more and more like a ghost himself with each failure. After a young girl named Tula with an uncanny ability approaches Adrian on a visit to the cemetery, he begins to hope that the husband he lost may still be within reach. Over time, he falls into an easy friendship with Tula’s father, Lucas Halpern. As Adrian is drawn into the orbit of the handsome, mysterious single father, Adrian begins to emerge from his grief, wondering whether it’s possible to find love again. Together, in a contemporary world laced with magic, Adrian embarks on a journey in recovering from loss, building trust, and finding love and family where they are least expected. Spirits & Sunflowers is the first book in the Maligned Magic series, a group of cozy queer romances set in an alternate version of our world. There, magic is tightly regulated by a distant and inflexible organization. All stories can be read as standalone novels, but benefit from reading the previous books in the series in order.

Hills of Heather and Bone by K.E. Andrews (@/k.e.andrews on IG)

Fantasy, adventure, cozy dark fantasy

Hills of Heather and Bone The bones of the dead hold stories.

On the fringes of Errigal, Morana longs to exchange a life of hiding for a peaceful one with her husband, Percy. While Percy's bloodgift lets him grow plants and heal broken bodies, Morana's a boneweaver, despised and feared because she can hear bones and raise the dead. Morana doesn't want to be seen as a villain from the old stories and instead spends her time gardening, writing the stories of the dead, and fending off a spiteful chicken.

Morana and Percy's lives are shattered when a group of Failinis tasked with capturing boneweavers and rogue bloodgifted find them. On the run and battling the elements, ancient creatures, and the loss of all they called home, Morana and Percy search for any sanctuary left in Errigal. Morana must choose between the call in her blood or the family she holds so close to her heart if she and Percy are to survive.

Please be aware that this book contains some scenes of violence, death, depression, mentions of miscarriage, birthing scenes, suicidal thoughts, suicide, and cannibalism

Keep Me Breathing by U.R. Holm

Soft Sci-Fi/Subterrainean/Adult

Keep Me Breathing

Fubuki has no reason to leave the comfort of her home. No desire to see the cave system outside.

Sakura has no desire to stay put. Even as a single mom, she brings her son with her on her travels. But when her son goes missing, Fubuki joins her across the cave system to find him.

The pair is joined by Alexandr, the alternative drummer, and Casey, the fraud who insists he wants to help.

In the search for the boy they all have to face their own personal struggles and insecurities. And while they travel to find the boy, the boy is fighting his own battles against his captors and in a world between adults and children.

While Keep Me Breathing is a novel with fantastical elements, it's even more a novel about friendship, love and familiar bonds.

[stevebabey]

Congrats on your milestone!!!

❤️ I would love numbers 30 and 34 from list 3 if possible- please and thank you 😊

hey hey!! thank u for being here! this was a toothrotting set of prompts for which i applaud u for dear GOD <3 i hope u enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it hehe - FYI: fem!reader

It’s a snot-fest, honestly.

Like anyone can blame for crying on your wedding day. Well, you call it crying but Robin had called it blubbering which might be more of an appropriate word for it. Some silly part of your soul sings when she tells you that Steve is doing no better, two doors down the hall from you, and apparently on his 2nd box of tissues already.

How the pair of you are going to survive the ceremony is beyond anyone.

You do, though. It helps that it’s not really a proper ceremony. There’s no priest, no officiant that isn’t just one of your friends. Along with a series of other undisclosed skills, Murray surprisingly has the legal power to wed you. Strange man, you think to yourself, but you’re thankful for it. Keeps the wedding among friends.

It’s small numbers, just enough of you to fill the backyard. You get married amongst the flowers, in the evening sunlight, just enough of a breeze to swish your dress. It's a perfect first event to hold in the glorious backyard of your new home.

Will had painted the bunting that’s strung above your heads, pastel and dreamy, fluttering in the wind. The bouquet in your hands was gathered by Erica and Lucas, who had taken the job very seriously, and found beautiful purple and yellow flowers from the nearby meadow. Eddie pleads Steve to let him set off fireworks after the ceremony, sneaking you a wink that tells you he probably will anyways. It's hard not to feel utterly surrounded by love.

Steve’s eyes are already red rimmed by the time you meet him at the altar.

His vows are short but bursting with love. He promises all the important things, like to always split the last pancake with you, to only use his puppy dog eyes when he really wants something, and to never let his girl go a day without a proper good kiss.

After your teenage adventures with alternate dimensions, the til death do us part comes as easy as air. And you mean it.

Despite all your practice, the kiss is a bit fumbled — too much excitement between the both of you. It‘s a bit alike to the first time you kissed Steve, way back when. This time, however, the clumsy kiss means something different all together. Steve has no shyness around kissing you; it’s his own excitement for the future trickling through. For your future together.

His warm hands hold you tightly. You don't even mind that Steve hasn't waited for Murray to tell him he can kiss the bride.

As Murray announces your official union, Eddie and Dustin yell like they’re attending a concert and not a wedding, hooting and swinging their ties above their head. Robin attempts to join them but can’t get hers undone for the life of her and instead, helicopters it around in her hand while it's still attached to her neck. Steve laughs as he steals a glance at the small crowd, the garden filled with love, and swallows, his throat thick with emotion.

He turns back to you, eyes shining, and presses his forehead down against yours. You feel full, breaking at the seams with how affection runs wild in your veins. You think you could live in this moment forever — could bottle it and drink it and get stupidly drunk with how in love you feel.

“Thanks for marrying me,” Steve murmurs, words wobbly. Words meant just for you. His eyes scan your face, the brown a bit lighter through his tears. You wonder if he’s committing this moment to memory as you are. “Wasn’t sure I’d have any takers for a minute there.”

You startle a laugh that comes out doused in emotion. A poke at the time he’d floundered for dates for more than a year after the break up with Nancy; at least, he had until you came into the picture. There’s irony in it, considering how you’d seemed to be enamored with each other from the very beginning.

You think you’ve always known you’d end up here, with him, one way or another.

“That’s okay,” It comes out awfully sentimental, even as you aim for a jest. “Any time, really.” You say, with an insistent nod and another wet-sounding laugh.

Steve’s chest tightens impossibly — he feels like he’s got no heart at all, just a cavity that you fill with burning hot love. The flowers dance in the wind behind you, your friends clap and cheer, but it all feels worlds away. There’s no room for any other emotion, just love.

“I have never loved you as much as I do right now.” He says, voice sappy beyond words. It’s genuine, the words as tender as they are softly spoken. It’s a whisper on the wind but not a secret.

You don’t need to tell him the same, he already knows. You remind him with another kiss and finally remember your friends, feet inching towards the makeshift aisle. There’s bouquets of wildflowers tied to the seats with twine. You’re in love.

“C’mon, husband.” You say, grin like starlight. Steve thinks he could hear those words forever.

join the celebration!

[unlikelyjapan]

s2e4 rewatch notes

I'm a bit tired, please forgive the typos:

At the intro, we get a montage of the permits and files and drills, the sense of urgency - the furiousness of the work and notes begging Carmy for something (that was probably already set on his list in the last episode). I guess I stopped paying attention to the timelines - they're now 7 weeks out with no walls and we haven't really gotten into the meat of the series yet - meaning we don't really see Carmy flake the fuck out until 1 month from opening.

Sugar's "don't tell anyone - this is my problem" bit is so sad, watching her castigate herself for bringing another her/carmy/mikey/donna/their dad into the world. I also hate the way such a heavy moment was turned into such a "womp womp - wall fell" moment, as the situation (and Sugar) deserved a lot more gravitas.

But this is a show through the male lens. Richie feels vindicated that he "guessed it". Carmy doesn't know how to show his concern (and to be fair, she'd probably pummel him if he expressed anything in that moment), but the fact that he still lets his sister shoulder so much of the restaurants burdens alone through the rest of the series shows the level he disassociates from his family (even his only caring/loving family member) at every turn.

Marcus is such a good son - I hope in season 3 we get a (posthumous, I presume) look at who his mother was, what shaped his character, how his brother/father play a role (if any) in his current family dynamic etc.

The Chester + Marcus pairing is a magical talisman that protects the show from a deluge of male-on-male emotional evasion, jousting and toxic co-dependency. I don't care that Chester is about as believable as Claire as a character, mainline that shit into my veins.

I love that Carmy ensured that Marcus would have the identical experience he had when he staged in Copenhagen (as described in Fishes to Mikey) - this is in no way coincidental, he would have had to make plenty of arrangements/requests to Marie for things to play out that way. He wanted Marcus to see Copenhagen through the same magical lens he did, knowing Marcus needed the inspiration and a break from his own version of family strife.

The invisible cat (Coco), the looming presence of Marcus' mom on the viewers minds, and the bike scene are three great examples of things that feel foreboding (like the other shoe is going to drop on Marcus) but never actually amount to anything. Whether existential or hopeful, I like it.

"Do you know how to make Shisho Gelee?" - this is such a gentle test to see how insecure Marcus is in this environment. Passing him the recipe as he's googling was an awesome act of amnesty. It immediately brings out Marcus' curiosity in the next scenes - he's asking all the right questions and looks so joyful when Luca gives him concise answers.

The scenes played out to Otis Redding's "I've Been Loving You Too Long", starting with "You're tired - and you want to be free" playing as Marcus walks home. Temporarily free from the impending death of his mother at home after a long illness. Free from the constraints of the (up until now) low-level jobs Marcus' has held down in kitchens with minimal inspiration and nowhere to go. Free from loneliness? The next cut is Sydney interviewing staff, as if on cue.

The quenelle - the heavy-lovin' part of the song as Marcus' is immersed in his work with Luca, falling in love with the ritualization of his craft. Things in Marcus' life haven't exactly been going right, but this is a place of solace. He follows this up by calling his Mom - professing his love for his craft, as well as for her.

Sidebar: The minty snickers bar is almost a sexual release scene during the ballad. I get why so many folks were led down the road to hell that is Marcus x Luca fanfic, as weird as I think that is (no hate! do you!)

The song ends with the pastry dissection on the boat. This man found love/spiritual release in Copenhagen, just like Carmy. "Mission accomplished, I guess."

Fak saying "Dude! We're best friends, we don't tell secrets!" re: the alliance stuff. So....every dude at The Beef/Bear is his best friend, Sugar is Mommy, and Sydney (and Tina, for that matter) are ????

I feel like Fak may be the thing that continues to insulate The Beef/The Bear as a Berzatto clubhouse for wayward boys at this juncture, but I'm originally from Canada (and thus have been force-fed Matty Matheson a.k.a Fak-Light since the mid-aughts) so there's probably some bias creeping in here.

Luca started as a chef 14 years ago. If he entered the profession and competed against Carmy at the same level/experience as a high-school graduate, that makes him and Carmy in the rough age range of 29-32, adjusting for education sans A-levels in the UK. We can put away that screenrant article and die in peace now.

Mikey was "Really tight, but also really out of his fucking mind, and he wanted to open a bakery". Something something Berzatto parallels.

Luca says "I've got a younger sister, somewhere, yeah" after asking about Marcus' family. Luca's got a case of the family damage, the trouble in school, a past-tense case of the ferocious mopes - all the same watermarks as Carmy. Meanwhile, Marcus was just sharing his mothers prognosis, and speaks of his brother with no ill will (even though he doesn't appear to be in the caretaking position with his mom) - are they foreshadowing that Marcus' doesn't have the damage that makes a truly great/ritualized/masochistic chef in the long run?

Luca's may have learned more lessons in life than Carmy has (in part by being thwarted by Carmy) but the habits borne out of family evasion/searching for something else are so engrained with that backstory. Or maybe Marcus' represents the happier/new way of doing things, breaking the toxic cycle (more thoughts on this down the line).

Luca worked to keep up with Carmy after he came to a place of acceptance that he'd never be the best, and that ended up being enough for him. Maybe a blessing is that Marcus' gets to sidestep the whole toxic cycle and just absorb knowledge (from Luca, from Carmy, from Syd) - he's not in a running position, just like Tina.

But of course, we never worry about Tina - she's too self-possessed. Marcus is emotional and easily influenced, so I have a feeling his narrative could turn on a dime.

Luca says "At a certain stage, it becomes less about skill and more about being open....." In summary:

Marcus - Open, but I fear could easily become closed in the wrong environment/trauma.

Carmy - Closed, doesn't really understand how to open when not hiding behind the guise of the restaurant/Syd/emotional fabrications

Sydney - Wants open, but always closes instinctively for self-protection.

Natalie - Open, with the limited emotional tools she has at her disposal.

Richie - *learning* to open, but that's a long fucking road.

Tina - Open

"It helps to have good people around you, too" - see above. The Bear represents the inherent goodness of people, with familial history run roughshod over it.

Marcus asking "Was It worth it? The time you put in" quickly followed by Luca saying "I dunno....ask me tomorrow"

Isn't this the feeling of fecklessness that almost everyone has with their creative craft being converted to labor? There's been a lot of theories floating around that Carmy doesn't like cooking anymore/never liked cooking - could it just be the long-standing feeling of irrelevance when you've taken a deep-dive into your craft for so long that you can't see the forest (inspiration, caring for people) through the trees (red tape, skill level, trauma etc.)?

The man on the bike could also represent saving someone the way that Marcus can't save his mom - it alleviates some of the feelings of powerlessness, and the exchange of comfort in the hug a reciprocity he can no longer experience with her.

"Are you sure you want to get back on the bike?"

A bad thing happened, but the man feels compelled to keep moving - as Marcus said to Syd in S1 "just keep moving" - there are a bunch of metaphors for just proceeding with the restaurant here.

Syd is literally just being goofy and talking to Marcus like a friend when he first calls - I guess I imagined there being a little more heat/aloofness there on her behalf, but it's giving friend-zone. She wouldn't act so familiar if there was a crush, I don't feel its in her DNA....

Marcus sharing the nightmare about his mom's impending death with Sydney is huge (again, the other shoe dropping) - Sydney tries to give an empathetic response (she's not great at anything with a whiff of mortality to it, but she approaches the topic with optimism) and caps it off with a "ugghh - I miss you man" as a reassuring gesture - he's her friend and a great source of comfort.

He nods quietly, waits a beat, and says "I miss you too" - and you can tell the pregnant pause has let Syd know that there's gravity/consequences to her words. She diffuses with the freeze humor because what the hell else are you going to do once a guy tells you about his dying mom nightmare, you spurt out a casual "I miss you bro" and he responds back tenderly that he misses you too. Unenviable.

"Okay, goodnight dude" - Syd hangs up immediately. Oof. Everyone talks about Syd getting a love interest in season 3 to level the stakes with Carmy, but I want Marcus' to bag a hot expediter or something just so there's a bit of joy in his life without a crazy dramatic subplot ensuing.

The mild smile on Marcus' face is so peaceful when he masters the dessert. It's such a quiet satisfaction you can only get when you create things. What a nice way to end the episode.

Holy crap, this was far too long. If you stuck it out, thank you!

[phosphorus-noodles]

Hello there, friend.

I see you have found my blog. My deepest condolences. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy your stay here! ^^

Here's a link to a page where you can learn everything there is to know about me!

. . .

No? Not satisfied? Back for more? Well then, here's an easier breakdown for you:

Call me Pho!

My pronouns are she/they (mostly?) + bonus prns if you want. Don't always vibe with labels because the thing with labels is that they Change Often, but tumblr decided that I’m aroace so that’s the closest you’ll get I think 👍

I mostly post about MCYT (Empires, Hermitcraft, Life Series, etc), but there's some multifandom stuff sprinkled in there as well. This includes but is not limited to: dunmeshi, steven universe, the owl house, gravity falls, luca, wings of fire, miraculous ladybug, etc

I'm the admin of the @bad-traffic-smp-ideas blog! Come check it out if you're interested in life series stuff, we have fun <3

I'll occasionally reblog religious things, as I am religious. I currently don't tag for it (or tag for most other things for that matter) but if you ask politely I'd be happy to ^^

Legally, I'm an adult, so if you're one of the "18+ dni" people, don't follow! (Adult content levels are typically pretty low, though.)

We're a diagnosed DID system, so sometimes headmates are a bit silly on main. Collective name is Noodles and collective pronouns are they/them if you're wondering! (pronouns.cc <- sys intro thing)

I have a sideblog for more personal and sys-related things that mutuals + friends from discord + whoever I deem worthy enough can follow. If you think you're one of these people, dm to ask for it :)

I also have a sideblog where I'll reblog all my art from here. It's a wip, but it'll be tagged here when it's done being set up ^^

Don't get us involved in discourse, we don't care.

[Sona ref coming soon, promise]

(Tag system + more under cut!)

“pho.posts” - my original posts!

“pho.asks” - asks for me :3c

“pho.reblogs” - reblogs from other people

"pho.saves" - me saving things for later

“pho.doodles” - my art :)

"pho.writes" - my (occasional) writing lol

"pho.crochets" - what it sounds like, I like to crochet!

"pho.polls" - occasional poll idk

“leftover.noodles” - self reblogs, or something like that

"butterflies.and.wind.chimes" - au tag! tl;dr it's Empires s1 but Oli TheOrionSound is there and him and Joel are goofy together ^^ (<- if I'm talking about an au, 95% of the time it's this one)

[au masterpost here!]

. . .

If you made it to the very end, drop a like! I love you <3