#i used to be like 'man i just spent my poor mothers money on a funny game i like im a lost cause' no bruh ur just neurodivirgent

[alexparozi]

paying to have my name in fnf credits was actually a great financial decision thanks 15 year old me you get a pat on the back

[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

[notthecutesttrash]

Vanilla Ice Cream

Content: Sierra Six is your newly appointed bodyguard. You only want to make his life a living hell so he can leave. That is until unfortunate circumstances make you feel closer to him, and eventually like his company.

Warnings: Lil bit of angst, reader's a brat, fluff, inebriation, blood, vomiting, language, death

Word count: 6.8k

When you saw him, all you could think was how it was just another pointless bodyguard who might fail to do their job. Apparently, you were notorious for being a spoiled brat, as your father so explained, and no one else wanted to work with you because of it. Your lips twitch in irritation at the thought. You? Spoiled? Please. 

“I don’t need a bodyguard! It’s not even a bodyguard anyways, it’s a babysitter! I’m so tired of being watched every day! Can’t I have some goddamn privacy?! I’m like 25!” You yell out to your father who is as usual, too busy calmly packing things into his neatly confined suitcase. 

“Enough (Y/n), you’re going to have a bodyguard because you can’t seem to sit still for once.” 

“Oh, maybe because, again, I’m 25 DAD! I’m so sorry for wanting to go out and have fun!”

“I have a target on my head, your mother has a target on her head, therefore YOU have a target on your head. What do you not understand?” You’ve heard this quote a million times at this point so you just wave it off.  

“Yeah, and? That target has gotten us nowhere but money spent on these so-called body guards and given us senseless paranoia. Nothing has ever happened, and nothing will. Just relax already.” Maybe you knew you were being selfish, but you didn’t care, it was true.

“I am going to be gone for not just a day, not just 2, not even a full week, but almost 2 months.” He emphasizes. “I need the best security there is for you, do you understand? Someone is bound to try something.” He gives you a finished expression and then glimpses to the maid. “Margaret open the gates for Sierra six.” Your father says. She nods and briskly walks off. 

You roll your eyes and huff, “dad!” 

“He’ll be here any minute now. Introduce yourself, be nice, and we will see you in 2 months.” You open your mouth to speak and he holds up a finger. 

“Don’t give this poor man any trouble than he needs, or at least enough that I have to hear about it. I don’t need yet another bodyguard that refuses to work with us because of you.” Your father rubs his fingers at the bridge of his nose to display his exhaustion. 

“What do you mean because of me?” You cross your arms and huff, “I don’t do anything to any of them.”

“Don’t play coy.” 

You shake your head, “i’m not.” You kind of were. Just kind of. 

“You are. Don’t act like every guard so far hasn’t wanted to reverse the contract and shoot you themselves.” You cross your legs and turn your head. 

“They start it.” That was also most definitely not true. 

A brooding man makes himself known at the doorway. A tall figure, blue grayish eyes, sandy dark blonde locks, and somehow a face and demeanor that could make a mother proud. 

“Another fit pretty face.” Was the first thing you say and your father instantly gives you a look that says don’t. 

Pursing your lips, you hum begrudgingly and step in front of the man. “My name is (Y/n), nice to meet you.” A clear fake smile burns into your features, and you stretch your hand out. Sierra Six doesn’t say anything, he remains stoic and silent. He then places his hand into your own and firmly shakes it. His hand felt warm and rough like he was born fighting every day, and you made a note to remember that. 

“Have a safe trip Dad!” You speak with honey, tiptoeing on your pretty little expensive slippers. Planting a kiss on his cheek, you give a side eye to six. A sadistic joy twitches into the edge of your lip, and you give him one last look before he turns to his side to let you pass through the doorway. 

Fitz told him it was going to be a trip, and he believed it. For the past few days all you were trying to do was tick him, to break him, to over-exaggerate every little opinion you had, to make sure he’d want to get up and leave himself. 

“I despise ketchup with my fries, why can’t we just have some alternative, what do you think Mr. Sierra six?” You would complain about one moment. Then the next moment you went on about how chocolate was better than vanilla, about how winter sucks because you can’t use your lavish pool, why red is better than yellow, why Pepsi tastes better than coca cola, and so on. 

 “So what’s your real name mr. six?” you ask him, your legs crossed over one another as you sat by him. His fingers were expertly working at the computer ahead of him, and he only gives you a split second of a look. “Nothing?” You inch closer, your red heels dangling near his legs. 

“Why are all you guards so boring? Hm? It’s been like 3 days and you can’t say more than 2 words.” Throwing your head back, you groan out loud. Finally, you thought of an idea, and you glance back at him, grinning.  

“Well then you wouldn’t mind if I invited my friend over would you?” A giggle escapes. “No. Of course not.” Pulling out your phone, you scroll through your contacts and grin. 

“You’re not supposed to have anyone over.” Finally, Mr. Special Sierra Six speaks. You wave your phone and laugh. 

“It’s just one friend pretty boy, come on now, don’t be shy. She won’t give you as much as a bite… though.. she might try to get into your pants.” Snickering to yourself, he gives you that same blank stare. You click on your friend Cacie, and she answers the phone just as fast. Smiling wide, you’re already pulling it to your ear and telling her to come over. 

“There’s a little special surprise for you. This one is good this time.” 

“Can’t wait~” she says with that little mischievous snicker at the end of her words. She hangs up and you know she’s already on her way. 

“Hey pretty boy, do you like wine? Wait don’t answer that. You strike me as a.. on the rocks type of guy. Let me guess.. bourbon? Scotch?” Six doesn’t respond, and you tap at your chin. “Whiskey!” Six gives you a glimpse, and you know you got it. 

“Let me guess, “I can’t drink on the job,” you mimic him, “just one little glass wouldn’t hurt.” Already pouring the whiskey into the glass, you shoot him a side look. He’s still working at his computer, and at this point a guard might be sighing, rolling their eyes, or shaking their head. But he’s quite diligent. It was impressive. 

You set the glass in front of him, and he doesn’t even eye you. “Just a sip for me, pretty please?” You give him the sweetest orbs you could muster, but it wasn’t very good knowing you. Eventually he gives you a look, and this time it stays. You couldn’t know what he was thinking with his expression at all. “Come on, please? I won’t bother you at all after this.” You tilt your head, and your eyes glimmer a certain sadism that screams out your lies.

“I’m good.” Sierra six speaks, turning back to his screen, and you create a fake pout. 

“That’s no fun.” You take the glass you poured him and take a sip. Your gaze lingers on him. He knows you’re staring, you know he knows you’re staring, but you still do it. The nails of yours tap onto the glass one finger at a time, and you rest your free hand at your cheek. Still stuck in your peering, you don’t realize the doorbell rings. 

“You should probably get that.” Six states, and you smile sarcastically. You should’ve made him get up and do it himself for that smugness. 

A swift smirk dawns on you when Cacies pretty face is revealed. Her red lips are stunning, and her blonde coils are wrapped up. She wears her velvet red slim-fit dress, and you know she always wore this one to seduce the prettiest of guards. “Cacie dear, meet Sierra Six.” Cacie walks up to him right away, a burning intrigue in her light blue orbs.

“You are quite the pretty one, aren’t you? Older, though. You could probably be my dad… but lucky for you, I like that.” She sways her hips to the side and giggles. There is a little flicker of annoyance inside of you that you push down. Six glances up and says nothing, he doesn’t even give a reaction, no visible sigh, no rude comment, not even a linger over her body to show he secretly enjoyed it. Cacie was more than intrigued by that though, and you knew she was 100% willing to break him by the night’s end. 

Cacie turns her back to six, and she unclips her hair and rolls her head slowly, pulling her fingers to her scalp to massage out the little bumps while her hair rolls evenly at the end of her back. Cacie pulls out her phone and loud music begins to blare out. Six doesn’t flinch, but he exhales a barely noticeable sigh that finally showed irritation. It was subtle, but you knew. You take a sip of the whiskey and giggle. Cacie breaks out into a little dance, and Sierra Six closes his laptop and gets up.

It was getting late so he carries his little flashlight and shines at the glass windows to make sure no intruder was around the corners. You roll a lighter in your hands and flick at it, igniting a small fire that you raise to your cigarette. Taking a deep inhale, you blow a trail of smoke in front of you and stand. 

“Dance with me (Y/n), you know you love this song!” Cacie shouts, moving her hand into the curves of her ass. Your gaze lingers over to your bodyguard and you flick your cigarette to the floor. You take another swig of whiskey, and Cacie turns to you with a bottle of champagne in her hands. A big grin stretches her lips and yours do the same. You break out into laughter and she mimics, pouring a generous amount into your glass. She was more of a wine girl, so she’d always have her little special bottle that she’d love to get from some handsome cashier to share a long sip with you. You place your glass down and begin to move your body with the music. 

“You’re free to join too,” Cacie throws a wink at six, and he gives a glimpse before getting back to work. 

Throughout the night Cacie sends every little flirt, any little comment, even a flash of her tits to six, and alas no response. You on the other hand couldn’t care less and once Cacie leans down all drunken to six and tries to touch him, he finally speaks. “Don’t touch.” You take this moment to finally pause the music. Falling to the couch with a sigh, you unbuckle your painful high heels and chuck them off to the side. Your stomach felt like it was violently churning. 

“Why? Afraid I’ll mess up your work? Get you fired?” Cacie chuckles, turning to you. 

“I don’t understand this guy. He’s more boring than watching paint dry.” She grumbles. Huffing, you lean back to the couch and clutch your stomach. There’s a swirling that rushes to your throat, and you bite back the nausea.

“I really don’t care Cacie, just stop bothering him,” you mumble off, unsure if you were even inteligible at this point. You pull your hair out of its restrictive tie and let the locks fall into your face. The headache that was beginning to brew pounds into your ears. Lines of haziness muddle together fast. 

“What is wrong with you?” Cacie gives you a look of disgust as if it was just blasphemous what you uttered. You mumble into the leather, dragging your tired face into it. Your head lulls to the side, everything was too heavy. 

“Are you okay?” Six asks from his position, his head turned over his shoulder, brows furrowed. 

“She’s just drunk,” Cacie rolls her eyes, gesturing towards you. You lean your head onto the curve of the armrest, and the way the light blares down into your sight has you rolling your eyes into the back of your head. Breathing raggedly, you follow Six’s movements toward you, a sickness hits your chest again and you close your eyes, sucking in a pained breath. Six scans the half bottle of champagne, and then you. Suddenly a hand presses to your forehead and you attempt to flutter your lids open. Beads of sweat drip down your skin, and your hair becomes so wet it clings to your cheeks. 

With a sudden sternness six asks, “What was in the champagne?”

Cacie throws up her hands and scoffs. ”How the fuck am I supposed to know? Champagne? I bought it at the store.”

Six rotates the bottle, attempting to find any language or label on the glass. “From who?” Cacie sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically. “I don’t know. The fucking cashier, who else?” 

“Did you say anything to them? Like how you were going to be alone?” Six asks, staring up at Cacie who quiets, a certain guilty look on her face. He raises his brows and she throws up her hands again. 

“Well… I didn’t think it was gonna be a big deal. I just told him that her dad was finally going out of town for more than just a few days, and he gave me that from behind the counter.” She holds a slightly worried expression as six gives her a blank look. You groan out loud as the pain in your stomach swirls. The bile was reaching your throat, the acid, the nausea, you couldn’t hold it back anymore. You violently hurl over the leather couch until your stomach expels every ounce of liquid it can. Before you knew it you were carried away and forced to sit in a car seat before you passed out cold. 

When you woke up you are met with a hospital ceiling, and upon turning, you find six at the corner, standing. Pulling your arms to your sight you see an IV in your wrist, alongside other needles. Anxiety spikes, and you gasp, rushing to get out of the bed.

Six rushes to you, gesturing with his hands to calm down, “Hey hey, lay back down, relax." You hesitantly ease back in.

“What happened?” You ask. 

“Your friend gave you a poisoned bottle of champagne.” He states blankly. Rolling your eyes at the paranoia, you cross your arms. 

“I’m sure I was just drunk.” Sighing, you look out at the window nearby. 

“Do you normally puke out blood when you’re drunk?” He says, tilting his head, and you turn to him. 

 “Only when I’m having a good time,” you can’t help but joke and smile to yourself, eyes now glued to the outside.

Six was quiet, and you shift your focus on him. He has a straight face like usual. You had a deep feeling that maybe if you weren’t purposely attempting to annoy him for the past few days, he might’ve liked you as a person.

“Sorry.” You mutter. 

He raises a brow, and you go on a nervous rant. “I just never get to be alone, so I get angry. So far every guard has quit, and that was always my intention. But..” The words were at the tip of your tongue, but you just couldn’t bear to say thank you, that he saved your life of course, a feat no guard has ever done, and probably never would’ve. 

“I understand if you will.” It is quiet for a moment, and you sigh, keeping your gaze just stuck to the window. You swallow sharply, and it feels like razor blades scratching down your throat. 

“I won’t. It’s my job.” Sierra six states like some automated robot. 

Pushing your head into the pillow, you scoff. “Even when you got a girl who’s trying to make your life a living hell?” 

“I’ve been with worse company.” For just a moment, you can see a shimmer in his eyes, and there’s just the smallest prettiest little curl at the edge of his lips. Grinning widely, you make out a laugh. Though, it’s not for long before you cough out a gross chunk of phlegm, or even blood maybe. 

“You okay?” He asks, moving to you as you nod weakly.

“Yeah…” You trail off tiredly. “Can we go home now?” He finally chuckles, and you turn to him, embarrassed, a slight blush burning in your cheeks. 

“Not yet.” There’s a frown from you, and you sink into the bed, your eyes closing. Six’s gaze lingers over you for a moment before he gets back into his past position, his hands folded neatly over each other. 

It’s been close to a month, and the only company you ever had was six, and you hated to say.. you were starting to fall in love with him. Maybe it’s because you were desperate for any social contact. Or maybe because he's the only one who actually broke your facade and you feel comfortable to be your self around him... Or maybe it was just.. something about him.. the way he would smile just slightly, his soft chuckles whenever you finally did make him laugh, his ability to remain so calm.. it was so peaceful and reassuring in your boring days. 

“I mean seriously though, why isn’t there an alternative to ketchup? It’s not like I’m just gonna put mustard on my fries, so you can’t say that’s one. It’s either ketchup or fries alone. You know?” You complain while shoving a fry into your mouth, huffing. Six removes the attention from his computer, his brow raised.

“Are you done?”

You nod absentmindedly. “You’re right, mustard sucks too.”

He lets out an impatient exhale, but there is just the slightest little twitch that nudges his lips into a smile. You find yourself grinning whenever you manage such a feat. Maybe he was annoyed at you, sure, but you knew he couldn’t deny that the mindless banter was enjoyable, and even he couldn't help but join in it every now and then. 

Six looks up at you with a stern but playful expression, “I like mustard.”

“Hm. You do seem like a mustard guy.” You raise your spoon to him accusingly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He stops typing completely now, gaze locked onto you. 

You circle your spoon and gesture to all of him. “It just screams.. you, you know?” 

Six hums. “Is it the hair?” 

“Yes! It is the hair!” You point to him and six nods, resuming his typing. He then shakes his head, and chuckles after a moment of silence. Smiling, you continue eating and snicker to yourself, well that is until a wonderful idea hits you.  

“You should teach me how to fight!” You shout and he gives you a blank look from his computer. 

“Why?” He asks.

“Well, what if someone breaks in and you need help?” He smiles only slightly, and your stare remains fixated on him. His beard compliments the frame of his sandy hair, and the blue of his eyes that glance your way. You loved picking those features out every now and then. 

He averts to his screen, “I won’t need help. Trust me.”

“But what if you do.” You retort. 

“I won’t.” He shakes his head. 

“But what if-“

Six sighs, “Alright, I’ll teach you. Happy?” Hand resting against your cheek, you giggle. Six glimpses when you walk off. Then his gaze remains for a second too long. 

Surely when he wasn’t looking around the same spots, exits, and corners every moment, he could relax in a way that still made him feel like he was working. That’s what you hoped at least when you dragged him outside beside the pool and forced him to teach you his martial arts, or whatever. 

“I’m not going to hit you,” he reminds you right off the bat.

You playfully gasp, pressing your knuckles to your hips. “What if someone bursts into my room and attempts to knock me out, hm?” 

“That won’t happen.” You open your mouth to retort and he puts his hand up.

“Don’t.”

You whisper the words “but what if it does?”

You would’ve believed him and even called yourself paranoid, but considering you just had an attempt of murder on you, unfortunately, the idea wasn’t out the window anymore.

“Hit me.” Six gestures, and you step back instinctively, a bundle of worry in your chest. 

“Anywhere..?” You press your lips nervously into another.   

“Anywhere.” 

You dive your balled-up fists at him, and he swiftly moves to the side. It was some impressive reflex, and you did it again only to watch him repeat. You take a step back and smile, breathing through your words. “So, I guess my father doesn’t hire useless people.”

The more you try, the more useless it is, but you’re determined until finally he grabs your wrist and holds it. “You’re too predictable, you can do better. Come on.” A huff escapes, and you swing directly at his eye, but he dodges just in time. 

“Better.” Six pauses, and moves to you, grabbing your fist. “Like this.” He moves your hand in the direction, imitating the movement, and once he steps back, you copy. “Good,” he compliments, and you step back, smiling.

Six makes a gesture with his hand, directing it to him as if saying to keep it coming. Taking a deep breath, you move to punch him, and he dodges. You do the same movement several times and he all but does the same, except each time you notice you were getting just a little closer to his window.

Eventually, you pant and hold your hands to your knees. “This is a lot more tiring than it looks.” 

Six looks around at the daylight slowly diminishing. “You should eat, it’s dinnertime.”

“You cooking?” You ask, taking a deep breath. 

“Not unless you like cereal.” He jokes with that blank tone as he walks away, but you give a small chuckle before following him. 

There was a question you were itching to ask as you sat down, and you gave him several glances to determine his mood. Then again there was never anything that showed what he might be thinking, so you purse your lips and look down at your food again. “What?” Six speaks up, and you turn to him, quietly staring. 

“Nothing,” you mutter, eating a forceful spoonful of your rice. 

Sierra Six hums, his gaze lingering over you, and you stand, getting up to walk to your freezer. “There’s no more ice cream,” you pout. 

“Good. I won’t be able to hear about how chocolate is better than vanilla for a while now.” You turn around to Six who has a little playful glint in his eye, and you fake pout, moving to sit back down. 

“You didn't enjoy my talks?” 

“I would’ve if you chose vanilla.” He jokes, and when you laugh he can’t help the small smile that tugs his lips.

You rest your hand on your cheek and find yourself gawking at him. Six eventually speaks through the strange tension. “You look like you have something you’re wanting to ask, so what is it?”

Biting your lip, you look away for a moment and eat another spoonful of bland rice. Life without your fancy chefs was definitely a depressing one. 

“Nothing I haven’t already asked you.” You say in a small mumble, and six hums, stopping his movements at the laptop. 

“You’ve asked me a lot in these past few weeks. Like what icecream flavor is my favorite, if I like ketchup better than mustard, if whiskey is better than bourbon, if-“ Cutting him off, you sigh. 

“What’s your name?” Six gives the same blank neutral expression, but as if he’s thinking. “Unless.. you don’t have one.. but you’ve got to right? You weren’t born an agent.. were you?” You ramble on, and six eventually lets out a small exhale, tilting his head. 

“Court.” He states and you quiet, keeping your eyes on his. Suddenly you smile, then it turns into a grin, and you laugh. He looks confused this time, “what?”

“Nothing… I’m just.. happy you told me.” A giggle escapes you, and there’s a swirl of butterflies in your stomach. Court raises a brow and gets back to work, his side gaze lingering on you as you move to put your dishes into the washer. 

“Goodnight Court,” you sing with a little giggle and wave. 

“Good night (Y/n).” He says, his focus back on his screen. Yet as you walk away the smile he held within him escapes fully.  

Throughout the night you found yourself tossing and turning, your head filled with thoughts of six- or Court. The house felt safer with him, you admitted, and on many nights when you were scared, he soothed you to sleep with his presence that you bothered to have near you.  

“Six?” You call out, making your way out of the bed with your little nightgown on. No answer and your heart leaps up into your throat. He always answered the first time. What if someone actually did intrude and he wasn’t there, or worse, he lost? God you were starting to sound like your dad, no way that’d happen… But what if it did? 

“Six..?” You call out quieter, tiptoeing around the door frames like a scared little child. There were no lights on, and the windows displayed only the inky blackness outside. It must’ve been, what, 2 am? Now you were beginning to get very worried, and your heart began to beat so fast it was drowning out the quietness of your large house. 

“Six..?” you call out yet again, and no response. 

When you turn a corner, there’s the body of an unfamiliar man on the floor which makes you jump back. Your toe pokes at him, and he doesn’t move. Your anxiety is now fully spiked, and you rush around the hall to call out for six. You find yet another black outfitted body, blood leaking from their chest onto the floor. Although, you didn’t notice that part until you tripped and fell on it. Groaning out in pain, you clutch your head, and call out one last "S-Six!".

Suddenly you hear glass breaking and a silenced gunshot which makes you jump. There's a heavy thud at your feet, it’s the body of another man, and when you look up, it’s Court who stands above you, alive and on his two feet.

He lets out a breath, and you ogle up at him, unsure of what to even say. Court gestures his hand to you and you take it. He instantly pulls you to your feet and you tiptoe silently around the body in front of you. You open your mouth to speak, but his focus zones behind you.

Something is moving in the corner of your sight and you shriek in reflex, instantly rotating to punch the assailant. "Ow!" They hiss in pain and recoil, holding their nose. You stare, wide-eyed, and when the man removes his hand from his face, his eyes narrow onto you. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you contemplate running for a moment but you are more than determined, so you hold up your fist and muster up the same expression.

Suddenly an object flies over your shoulder, it nearly grazes your cheek before it lands deep into the chest of the man who is knocked back. Turning, you see Court who has a serious expression on his face, possibly the most you've ever seen.

You don't have much time to breathe out a word as another man comes behind him. Court rotates just in time and lands a loud sucker punch to the man’s jaw. The attacker stumbles back and gasps, attempting to grab at his pistol that Court more than easily undoes and the magazine falls to the floor. Court lands another hard hit, and you can visibly see the blood that leaks from the attacker’s nose as he repeats, and repeats.. and repeats to the point where you might as well feel guilty for the poor guy.

Cringing, you turn away, and you assume Court is finally finished when he lets out a breath and walks towards you. You study his movements as he nears the man beneath your feet and yanks the blade out from his chest. He takes a rag nearby and begins wiping the blood from it. You notice there is also blood running down his arm and without thinking your hands quickly roam to find the wound. 

“Are you okay?” There was pure concern in your voice, and he scans you as if deep in thought. 

He answers after a few seconds, shrugging, “I’m fine, just a little graze.” You frown and he adds, “You should be sleeping,” breaking you from the focus on his arm. 

You huff. “When did they come in?” 

“Now.” Court continues wiping the blade, not even looking at you. 

“I told you I wouldn’t need any help.” Court continues in his monotone voice and you’re breathless in pure astonishment. You wanted to gasp out a “You’re unbelievable," but in reality, you say what you know annoys him. 

“But you might've.” He cracks just the edge of a smile at you. 

Your knuckles are a bruised red and you can't help but smile as you add, “Did you see the punch I landed? I did more than help, are you kidding?" Court chuckles and god even at a moment like this your heart flutters. 

"Really? That's weird, I feel like I remember teaching you that punch. When was it..?" He looks to the ceiling as if just struggling to remember, “Just earlier today?" You were stuck in your smile, and your head tilts like a lovesick puppy, eyes glued to his. He gives you a sweet smile, then examines your dress which now has a puddle of red in it from when you tripped. 

“You should go change.” He comments as if trying to shift the moment, and you hum, looking down at the bodies on the floor. It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen this, considering the line of work your father was in, but the shake of six possibly getting hurt, or that they were coming for you upset you more than anything. 

“I couldn’t go to sleep.” You now change the subject, looking up at him. He doesn’t respond, so you touch his hand and gently grab the knife that he was working at and place it on the counter. “Do you ever sleep?” 

“Rarely. I can’t really afford to, considering,” he gestures to the bodies, “someone might break in.” 

“What if I stand watch, and you sleep?” You offer, and he laughs for a bit. When he notices you’re serious, he gives you a look as if you just said something ridiculous. He scoffs and you pout.

He shakes his head, “That’s not your job.”

“No, it’s not. But my job as a host should be to make you feel comfortable and well-rested in my home.” You tilt your head, giving the best puppy eyes you could muster. 

“Interesting character development.” He jokes and you pout. 

“Come on, please? Starting tomorrow, you can take the best nap of your life.” You hold his hands that were once cleaning the knife and squeeze gently. Blue meets (e/c), and for a quiet long moment, it remains that way. Six doesn’t say anything, he just stares, and you do the same. Eventually, he decides to speak.

“I should probably clean this up.” You look around and take a step back forgetting to remember you’re an inch away from a pile of blood. 

“Oh.. right.. yeah.” You trail off, giving him one last look as he does to you, before you nod, and walk off. 

“Good night (Y/n),” he says and you turn back and smile. 

 “Good night Court.” 

The closer you got to the time of your dad coming back from his trip, the more a big twinge of disappointment would hit you. It was almost 2 weeks left now, and you felt a sadness thinking of it. It would mean no more Court, and he would go on his way to other missions, or worse, even become a bodyguard to some other girl who’s conveniently all alone in a big house. 

“Are you okay?” Asked Court who was, as usual, typing on his computer while you ate. 

“Yeah.” Responding, you stab sadly at your eggs and let out a sigh. He wouldn’t like you anyway, not with how bad you treated him the first few days. There was no way.

Maybe it was a good thing he was leaving soon, so you could just be on your way and stop being so lovesick. Sooner or later another guard will come and you’ll go back to making their life a nightmare. 

Court stares at you from the sides of his eyes, and hums. “I’ve been with you long enough now to know what’s wrong, so tell me.” He pushes his computer out of the way and directs his focus onto you. “What’s on your mind?”

Your lips purse, and for a moment you think of lying or not telling him anything, but you finally decide, that if he wasn’t going to be here after these 2 weeks anyway, then what was the point of keeping it to yourself? 

“I’m just.. disappointed you’ll leave soon.” Court tilts his head, probably not even sure how to respond to that. 

“You’re the only guard I’ve liked. So far I’ve made all of them quit, or even want to kill me themselves. My dad probably expects that you’re already gone or wanting to blow your own brains out by now. But… you’re here.” Awkwardly you finish your statement, refusing to stare at him in the eyes.. until finally you do. He gives you this questionable expression, and truthfully all of his emotions have been at least a tiny bit readable, but right now, you’re truly unsure of what he’s thinking. All you seem to notice is a glimmer in his eyes, maybe something sad, happy, mad, you really couldn’t tell. 

“Yes.. I am.” He trails off like he wants to say more. 

“Why?” 

Court shakes his head for a moment and glances down, then he shrugs. “It’s my job.” Exhaling, you push yourself back into your seat. 

Thinking of what to say and biting back a disappointment, you muster out a painstaking gratitude. “Well… I thank you for doing your job. In 2 weeks, you won’t see me again, and I’ll be back to making someone else’s job here hell. So.. you’re almost free.” You joke, but in a way that hurts you. A small fake smile is all the reaction you want to give, but the humor that makes its way to your words is almost nonexistent. 

There’s a harsh jab that hits your heart that you’re attempting to push down. You knew he wouldn’t like you, it’s outlandish, but still, the tears that force their way to your eyes made it hard to show no emotion. Court sees it, and his attempted stoic gaze remains on you, but you can see he’s feeling emotions he’s unsure of, or like he’s thinking hard. His mouth opens to speak after a few seconds but you don’t want to hear it, not the words that you’ve been dreading, not the confirmation that’ll break your heart.  

“I’m going to shower.”

He nods, and you purse your lips, turning away from him. Once you are sure he couldn’t see you, a few tears fall to your cheeks. 

You put your hair up in a clip and decide to give yourself a nice bath instead. Undressing yourself, you lock the door to the bathroom and turn on the faucet, adding in a scent of your favorite soap. The bubbles rise to the top, and you watch, spacing out as you wait for the water to fill the spacious tub. Once it’s done you dip your legs in one by one and slowly sink yourself in, enjoying how the hot water settles your nerves. Once Court is gone, you’ll go back to normal, surely. Your eyes close and you let out a relaxed exhale.

You must’ve stayed there for longer than you thought, because there was a knocking at the door, and you mumble unintelligibly to yourself, rubbing your eyes awake. Muttering tiredly, you ask, “Yeah..?”

“It’s been a few hours. Are you good in there?” Court calls out, a slight worry in his tone. 

Humming lazily, you draw yourself out of the bath and swing a robe on, your hair partially wet in its bun. “Sorry, I.. must’ve passed out.” You nearly whisper, opening the door to see Court’s face. He nods, and you both share a longing gaze. 

“Right um… I’m going to get changed.” You cut off the awkward moment, walking off before he could see the light blush that dusts your cheeks. The way your heart beats, betrays the nonchalant thoughts of him leaving and reminds you painfully of the attachment you have. Once again, the idea of him vanishing right when your father arrives causes a pure sinking pain in your heart. 

You throw on whatever’s comfortable and let out a sigh. Grabbing your hairbrush you tiredly begin brushing your hair while a sad pout glues to down turn your lips.

A knock on your door alerts you. Courts at the doorframe, his hands folded over one another, his blue orbs holding a certain sweetness when he views your form. 

Nervously finding yourself caught in his gaze again, you pull away clearing your throat. “Hi…” 

“Hi.” He responds, remaining still. It’s another awkward moment as you slowly brush your hair.

Court suddenly starts, “I’m not going to leave.” You stop, your attention shifting to him. He adverts his eyes for a moment and shuffles his legs, then focuses back.

He speaks with his usual neutral tone, but there’s a slight mix of something unreadable in there. Your attention is now stuck on him and every word he has to say.

“As tempting as it is to no longer have to hear about.. chocolate being better than vanilla,” you both share a small chuckle, “I don’t want to be “free” from you.” Court peers longingly, and you’re not sure what to say, you’re barely even blinking, your heart is leaping into your throat and you swallow roughly. You’re unsure of what exactly he means by this.

Court continues. “The only way I’ll leave is if you want me to leave,” he pauses, “Do you want me to leave?” 

“No,” you whisper, eyes glued to his. 

He walks towards you, slowly and steadily. “Then I won’t leave..” Court trails off, and you avert your attention. 

“What about when it’s no longer your job?” He takes a seat beside you and uses his thumb and index to hold your chin gently, making you gaze back into him. 

“It’ll always be my job.” He practically whispers. 

You scoff, “To be my bodyguard?” 

“No, to protect you,” He says surely, and your cheeks instantly turn a soft pink. 

This time you mumble back, a small frown on your features. “Even when you have to leave?” 

“Even when I have to. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be gone forever.”

Your eyes keep staring directly into his blue orbs, and you aren’t sure if it was his face that got closer, or yours, but eventually, your lips touch, and your lids close peacefully. He tasted sweet and was softer than you’d imagine. Upon separation, your gazes remain fixated on one another, and a genuine smile tugs at both your lips. 

You speak without thinking, “I like you. You know that?” Court hums, breaking out into a laugh. His lips spread wide into a grin, and your heart skips just a little beat. 

“Just like?” This time you chuckle. 

You bite your lip and coyly tilt your head. “You gotta earn that second part.” 

“And how do I do that?” Court asks, his voice soft. His fingers dance over your cheek, and you go weak at just the idea of his face so close to yours that you almost can’t even respond. He’s returned your feelings, and this makes you ecstatic. Your breath hitches when he leans in and plants a kiss on your lips. 

“Just like that?” He asks, smug, and you nod, breathless, moving to touch his dark blonde beard that frames his features so well. 

“Just like that,” you whisper, and he smiles, moving in to kiss you again.  

[thepatristictradition]

Suffering is not What You Think

(The Penitent Magdalene)

So often you hear, when people leave their churches, their gripes surround suffering. Why would God allow suffering? Why would God allow babies to be murdered and die of cancer? Why would He allow war and cannibalism and pedophilia? Why did God allow me to see my mother die? Why did he allow this or that?

What I cannot help but notice is that the people saying this are never talking about their own suffering.

"Why does God allow war?" said a cowardly young man who has never seen bloodshed. "Why does God allow cancer?" said a woman who is perfectly healthy. "Why does God allow abuse?" said a man who had the privilege of watching the sex abuse crisis of the RCC play out on the TV screen and not in the sacristy. "Why did God allow my mother do die?" said a daughter who is still alive.

We may mourn, and we ought to mourn, the sorrows and the fallenness of this world, but witnessing suffering is not the same as suffering.

(Just Take Them and Leave Me Alone)

This was never more clear to me than when I spent a summer arguing with my anti-natalist, atheist sister. She would spend hours berating my poor mother and father for the heinous crime of having children. During one of these spats, my sister turned to me and said, "How can you support natalism?" which she said like a slur, "your grandmother abused you from the moment you were born."

Now, this is true. Truer than she knew, or, if I have it my way, will ever know. My grandmother (who was my and my sister's primary caregiver) always despised me because I was born with a deformity. Her hatred only intensified when my sister was born. My sister was, in her eyes, perfect. As a child, my sister would ask for me to be abused in front of her, for her amusement, by my grandmother.

My sister witnessed plenty of my suffering, but she experienced not an iota of it. And yet, she used my suffering as a way to say that all of human life is suffering. She used it to discredit the worth of all human life.

(Ophelia)

I find this is always the case. When I was an atheist, I was confused by people who brought up the "problem of suffering". I never viewed my suffering as something that made my life worse. Even as an atheist and a child, I saw clearly how the suffering I experienced and was experiencing was driving me toward a larger purpose. This pattern of thought followed me into the sexual abuse I experienced in middle school and into my conversion.

My atheist associates, whose suffering I know well, likewise never cite their suffering as a reason for their disbelief. When you really get down to it, "God is a big meanie" is not a reason to reject His existence, say these associates of mine.

It is only being a witness to suffering-- usually an impotent witness-- that causes this specific kind of apostasy. Even if my sister had stopped encouraging it, I still would have been abused. Her behavior would have made little difference. It is the same for the sufferings I listed earlier. Regardless of what we tell ourselves, no boycotting, no Instagram post, and not even tax evasion or immolation will stop the Genocide Israel is purporting against the Palestinians. We, far removed, poor, and powerless foreigners, are impotent. We can do nothing to help someone with a terminal illness not die-- it's terminal. We can do nothing to help the kidnapped children we see on the news, taken from their homes halfway across the country. We cannot bilocate, live forever, or have infinite money.

When these people say, "Why does God allow suffering?" they are actually asking, "Why does God allow my impotence?" The implication is that, of course, they would solve these sufferings if only they were not impotent. Is this the case? I don't know; who am I to judge the heart of another man?

Whatever the case, it is clear to me that witnessing suffering is of some different metaphysical nature than the actual experience of suffering. I've written a little about this privately, so I will get around to expanding upon it in further posts.

[desdemonafictional]

The Woman Called...

Fujiko Mine was born into a family that did not consider itself poor, on account of they could afford to eat meat every week or so, unlike some families they knew who couldn’t afford it at all. Those were poor families, her mother would have said, not us.

Of course, they had been poor. They had been dirt poor. They had been secondhand shoes bought three sizes too big so you can grow into them, get slapped for breaking a dish at dinner, too-proud-to-beg poor. Whatever warm family feelings they might have had for each other were strained to the point of fraying by the time Fujiko entered middle school.

At age 12, Fujiko had looked around herself at the world—at the shining elegant faces in advertisements, at the delicate patisseries where it would have cost as much for one cake as her mother spent on dinner for all four of them, at the sneering faces of girls who had more than she ever had just for the stupid fortune of being born to a better class of family—and Fujiko Mine had come to a conclusion. Her conclusion was thus: the world was demonstrably not fair. And if the world was not fair, then what was the point in playing fair while the other side went on cheating?

Dumb luck might have given other girls family connections, money, and an easy life, but Fujiko had something most of them didn’t.

Fujiko was beautiful.

At age 14, she measured her bust religiously, noting the centimeters of growth and calculating her seams. She searched her face for imperfections and rationed out dollops of pale foundation as if the cream was gold. She walked tall, wore her hair short, and stood on tip-toe when she couldn’t wedge rags into her shoes. Men had already started to notice her years ago, but the extra help never went astray.

One day, on her way to school, there had been a man waiting for her a few blocks away. He explained that if she would come to dinner with him, he would buy her a beautiful new jacket for the winter, so she wouldn’t have to wear that old ratty one with the patches. Of course, she said yes.

He was a very nice man, as far as such men went. He took her shopping. He told her she was beautiful.

“You probably expect a story like that to end in tragedy,” Fujiko said, examining her cigarette with vague contempt. “Poor dumb little girl in the spider’s parlor. What was he hiding, what did he do, how did he hurt her? Well it was fine. Nothing happened. After a few weeks he went back to his sad little housewife in Kanto and lived a normal life, probably never thought about Fujiko Mine again. But I had the jacket.”  

There’s an impermeable barrier that separates the poor from the rich, and it’s all quantified in clothes. The better you dress, the more people believe you belong. A ragged slob off the street would be turned out of a high-end store before she even knew what was happening, for fear that she’d pocket something nice with her greedy nasty little hands. But the same girl, dressed in a nice coat that obviously cost a salaryman quite a lot of money? Oh, why would she steal? She’s obviously doing just fine. So come in, come in, if you have money to spend.

“I worked my way up,” she said, and took a drag. Her elegant red nails alighted only delicately on anything she touched. “Shirts first, then dresses. Just slightly above my class. Once you have slightly nicer down, you can shift another class up. But people notice if your shoes are wrong, it’s one of the first things to give you away when you don’t belong. Shoes are expensive. They’re hard to fit in your sleeve. So I worked at the hostess club for months to afford a pair of new leather shoes.”

At the hostess club, she met a lot of new types of men. She was too young to work at an above-board club, so she worked at a shadier one instead, the kind where touching was alright. At least up to a point. Some of the girls would call security on a handsy drunk, but Fujiko didn’t want their help—she’d deal with it herself, on her own terms. Anyway, a man who was busy grabbing a breast was probably not paying attention to his wallet. And he probably wouldn’t remember how much he spent, either.

She bought the shoes. She thought about quitting. And then she stayed anyway.

“I was good at getting men to buy drinks,” she said, “and I had a system for swapping out empty glasses with half drunk glasses. I used to hide them in the corner of the cushions. Or under my skirt. I was very good at getting other people to drink.”

She ashed her cigarette with a careless flick, her nails like quick shining beetles taking off.

“But it turned out one of those men I’d been getting to drink was a Yakuza mid-boss, the ambitious type, you know? And so one day this asshole pulls me aside as I’m leaving work—”

Sunglasses at night, that’s mostly what she remembered. Long jacket, with the sleeves pushed up to show the edges of tattoos. He’d smiled like a tiger on a diet, ever so polite, banked hunger and a rough rolling accent.

“I took the job, of course,” Fujiko said. “It wasn’t like I was attached to the guy, or anything. I let him take me home after a shift a few nights later, and when I had him alone and naked, I opened the front door for his rival. The trouble is,” and here, she contemplated the glowing cherry between her fingers, “once you’ve taken blood money, you can never really go back. You know how it is. There were always more men in sunglasses, always more jobs, always more money, and always more things to hide.”

She finished off the cigarette with a long, contemplative drag.

“One day you look up, and you realize that little by little, without noticing it, you’ve become someone who can’t go home.”

The silk of her dressing gown fluttered translucent and pink against her thigh as she stood. The wide high window glowed verdant with morning light over the garden that several men worked quietly and invisibly each week to maintain. She stood in front of the glass, staring out, still except for the restless flicking of her fingers at her side. Her shoulders tensed, like a cat watching a bird just out of reach.

Then, of course, there had been Poon. He hadn’t called her beautiful. He’d called her clever. Deadly. He’d admired that she was ruthless. He’d opened his hand, his portfolio, his heart, and offered her the chance to be more than set dressing. To take partnership in the business where for so long she’d been only pawn. Teacher, lover, friend—escape, ensnarement, she had wanted to be him, and yet she had wanted to be more than him. Everything she had was his, and the worst part was that he held nothing back. He gave and gave, and the more he gave the less she had.

They’d been unstoppable. They’d been a cataclysm. They’d been the golden pair. And when he died, he’d gutted her of everything he’d been.

“I liked killing less than the hostess work,” she remarked to the window. “But the hours were better.”

And then she turned, and smiled a wicked, insouciant smile.

“Of course, those days are long behind me,” she purred. “I’m a good girl now.” She dripped like water across the lounge, graceful legs and trailing silk, to climb into the lap of the man who meant to hire her.

 “Silly me, how I’m going on. I’m afraid I’ve quite lost my head around you, Mister…?”

“Lupin,” the man said, and his eyes reluctantly tore up from the place where her thigh was pressed to his side. “The Third.”

“How distinguished,” she said. She drew her fingers up along the length of his neck, grazing his ear. His pupils dilated. It didn’t matter what she’d said, really; he wasn’t listening. Men like him never did.

Easy money, she thought. I’ll have him chewed up in a week.

“So what was it you wanted done, exactly?” she asked.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

CATFA: Part One

Pairing: Ikaris x Female!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: canon violence, language, and angst

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Earth is nothing like you expected it to be. There are a lot of planets in your home galaxy that can support life as well as millions of other planets in other galaxies around yours. Still, you never expected Earth to be so similar to your home planet, Xenia--a thriving ecosystem, corrupt governments, billions of people, and large bodies of water that cover most of the planet.

The only difference is that your planet is home to one of, if not the evilest man your galaxy has ever seen. Xenia became a breaking ground for bad ideas, and they all point to the one who made you: Markus Hottle.

To most, you look like you're in your late twenties or early thirties, but you're much older than that. You've just had your one-hundredth birthday, and you know you've got a lot more to go through before you die. What Markus did to you caused you to nearly stop aging; just another side effect of his experiments.

It's why you fled your planet and have been on the run ever since. You've spent fifty years jumping from planet to planet, always avoiding Markus when he sent his goons to chase after you. You've been running for so long that you don't know what a home is anymore.

Yours was destroyed the second Markus had your parents killed.

Will Earth be different?

Xenia has always thrived on the creativity and knowledge of other people. It's what made Xenia so successful with businesses, its own ecosystem, and its communities. Earth has none of that. You landed on Earth in the year 1000, and they're nothing like what your planet is like. This planet is filled with poverty, famine, greed, struggle, and a corrupt elite community who think they're too good for everyone below them.

With your knowledge and power, you could easily fit your way into the elite status, but then who would help out those in actual need? Who can they turn to when they need help? You don't have any healing powers, so you can't aid them medically, but you can offer them something else: agriculture and clean water. You're still getting used to your new life Markus forced upon you, but if you can help others while doing it, then you have the obligation to do so.

They don't have the resources to build a new world, and you're not going to freak them out by showing them you're an alien, so you'll use what they have to help them. Something you often did back home with your mother, was make clothes for all of your friends and family. You love sewing and creating something out of nothing, and seeing how the poverty is dressed, you think you can help them by providing them with clean clothes, blankets, and other types of means to stay warm.

It didn't take long before communities came to your town to buy your clothes. Most of the time, you didn't want them to pay since you're not doing this for the money, but some refused to take your clothes without paying for them. After five or so years of being in that town, you've come to make friends with almost everyone. Along with clothes and blankets, you'd offer clean water for them to take with them--as much as they needed. It's not much, but that seemed to make their day.

While Earth is not as technologically advanced as Xenia is, you're enjoying your time on Earth and hope that Markus doesn't find you here. Your home is on the other side of the known universe, so you think you're safe for now.

The bell on your door rings, signaling that there is a customer in your store. You look up and see one of your regulars with a tired look on her face.

"Alice, are you alright?"

"Yes. My youngest is not feeling too well. The poor thing is hot and cold and is not getting any better. I came in here hoping you might have something that could help?"

"Of course. I have more water for you to take home to your family. I have made some more blankets, which are in the back. Please, help yourself. I do not want your son to be cold."

"I do not know what this town would do without your generosity."

"I am just happy to help." The bell on your store door rings again, and you give Alice a warm smile. "I will be back there in a few moments."

She leaves to the back to browse your collection while you turn to the new customer. You're about to greet them when you see the most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on--and you've met millions of people.

He has a square jaw and pink lips. He's muscular which is defined by the blue and gold suit he is wearing. He has short hair with a sliver of white in the front. He has the prettiest of blue eyes--they sparkle like the ocean does when the sun is rising. You've only lived here for six years, but you've never seen this man before. Who is he? Why is he here? What does he want?

"Hi. Welcome in."

"I hear you are the best clothesmaker in town."

Ooh, and he has an accent.

"You heard right. What are you looking for?"

"Anything that will make it look like I belong in this town. This kind of sticks out like a sore thumb," he says and gestures to his suit.

"I have never seen that or you around here before. What is your name?"

"Ikaris."

"Well, Ikaris, I must pick your brain about where you came from, but I can help with the clothes situation. Follow me." You lead Ikaris to the section where you've made some clothes specifically for men. You grab something new you're working on and place it against his chest to see how it might look on him. You pause and look into his eyes. Wow, the blue in his eyes is shinier up close. "I believe this one will do."

"Thank you."

"Please, try it on. I do not want you leaving here without a proper fit."

There is a section you've blocked off with a wooden partition you've created. All the stores in Xenia have these, but you've resulted in using what humans have made available. A lot of businesses are run outside, but with your powers, you've managed to make a store big enough to have a few people in at a time. Humans wondered how you got there, to begin with, but they were easily won over by your generosity.

Ikaris walks behind the partition and tries on the shirt, and you grab a pair of pants you made before handing it to him. The partition is low enough so you can see his face, but you can't see anything else. He maintains eye contact as he tries on the clothes, and he smiles once he knows it fits.

"How do you like it?"

"It is very comfortable. How much for these?"

"No need. I do not need your money."

Ikaris walks out with the clothes on over his suit. You're not sure why he didn't take his suit off, but you don't comment on it. There is something about Ikaris that catches your attention, and you're not sure what it is. It's like he isn't from this world. It's in the way he speaks and the way he carries himself. He seems a lot older than what he looks like, and the more you spend time with him, the more you see that.

A couple of months have passed since you first met Ikaris, and you two have been spending a lot of time together. You're starting to really like him, and you believe he likes you too. There are some days you like to close up shop just to enjoy the day or buy food from the vendors around town, and today is no different.

You and Ikaris are walking down a beaten path in the woods behind the town you live in because it's less crowded.

"You never told me how long you have been here in town."

"Quite a while."

"You are very mysterious, you know that?"

"I do," Ikaris chuckles.

You two continue to walk, but you pause when you feel the ground rumble. You look to the side to see a gnarly yet beautiful creature inch toward you and Ikaris. The creature is bigger than anything you've ever seen on Earth, and it's iridescent blue and purple that shines whenever it moves. It opens its mouth to bare its very sharp teeth, and your eyes widen in fear.

"Look out!"

You push Ikaris out of the way just as the creature pounces on you. You go crashing to the ground as it drags you twenty feet. You reach up and grab its upper jaw to prevent it from snacking on you, and Ikaris looks at you just in time to see something truly amazing happen.

Your eyes shine dark red and orange and fire forms at your fingertips. As if it's second nature, you place your fiery hands on the creature and let the fire spread throughout. The creature cries out in pain, and you kick it as hard as you can which causes the creature to topple over you so that you're free from its grasp.

You gasp and back away from the burning creature only to back into Ikaris.

"You're bleeding," he says.

You look at your arm to see a huge gash where the creature must have scratched you.

"Don't worry, I'll heal."

Just like that, your skin starts healing from the damage taken to it, and Ikaris watches with curiosity and concern.

"Are you an Eternal?"

"What the hell's an Eternal?"

"Come with me."

He takes one last look at the deviant before taking your hand. He leads you to where he's been staying these past few hundred years, but there is nothing there to show. He stops at a clearing, and you look around in confusion. Before he has a chance to say anything, gold spirals and rings form in the sky until a black triangle forms. You're kind of amazed, but you've seen a lot of alien technology throughout your life.

You two are beamed up into the floating triangle, and you're greeted by nine other people in the same kind of clothing Ikaris was wearing when he first came into his shop.

"Ikaris, who is this?" the youngest and shortest one asks.

"This is Y/N, and she killed a deviant."

From what you understand, Ikaris and the other nine people on the spaceship are called Eternals, and they were put on Earth about six thousand years ago to protect humans from deviants, which is what you just killed. They all have special powers that they use to aid them in the war not a lot of people know about. When you had a feeling Ikaris was different, you weren't expecting him to be six thousand years old.

"If you're not an Eternal, then what are you?"

Makkari is the only one who speaks Sign Language, but you don't know much about the language to understand what she is saying, so Druig translates for her.

"I'm from Xenia, a planet on the other side of the universe. I was experimented on by someone who wanted to take over planets with fear. He created a serum that gave me the powers of shapeshifting, which is why I've been able to sneak in and out of the royal castle to steal food or pose as someone with wealth.

"Then, he started experimenting with the Tesseract or the space stone which is one of the six infinity stones. It's what gave me my second set of powers which is controlling the four elements. It's why I was able to kill that deviant with fire. It's also why I can heal quickly."

"How old are you?"

"One hundred. I left my planet at fifty years old, but I stopped aging when I turned thirty-three."

"How did it take you fifty years to travel across the universe? I'm not a math genius, but even I know that's impossible," Phastos asks.

"Because I was made using the space stone, it gave me the ability to create portals which I can open to anywhere in the universe. I had trouble adjusting to that power, so it took me a little longer to get away from my maker. I'm making a home here, and I'd like to stay here if that's okay with you."

"Of course," Ajak says. "I thank you for killing that deviant. We could use your help in killing all of them so that we may go home."

"Anything I can do to help."

And just like that, you became an Eternal-adjacent. It pained you to leave the small town that relied on you to survive, but if you don't take care of the deviants, then there won't be a town left at all. It's nice to be part of something that matters since all you've been part of is something evil for most of your life. You're not even sure where Markus is, but you hope that he doesn't ever find you.

The years blend as you and Ikaris grow closer. The more time you spend with him, the more you fall in love with him. You've never been in a serious relationship before him since you were too scared to start something, but now you feel secure enough to let someone else into your life.

It doesn't matter if Ikaris is human or not.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[mswyrr]

I did my dissertation on post WW2 veteran mental health. The realities of that war got erased and remembered in the US as "the good war." But there is no such thing. It broke people; a lot of them. During Criston's despairing speech I thought of these lines from Kurt Vonnegut's "Slaughterhouse Five":

Vonnegut was one of the artists who wrote about the ways in which WW2 was very much not good, because war itself is never good, not even when it's necessary and people have no choice. There was an evil side in that war, clearly! But that doesn't mean anyone was good or that war can be good.

All of the lies of honor and masculinity Criston told himself have just collapsed under the the reality of war. I might find the lies he told himself disgusting--the man is deeply patriarchal, sexist, etc--but that's what he was given by his society and now it's collapsed and his will to live along with it. Those lies are, in fact, designed to dupe men into willingly going to war and having their bodies and minds broken like this.

I feel like HOTD is committed to being an antiwar narrative -- not in a preachy way, in a very "show, don't tell" way -- and I love that. It's been decades now since US pop culture has had a genuinely, bone deep antiwar narrative.

The fact that the one major battle they spent money on was gut-wrenching and horrific. That the aftermath is that so many people are now mentally and physically maimed for life. There is no glory, only despair and human beings (and loving animals like poor Sunfyre and Meleys) slaughtered and maimed.

"And for what?" is the question that hovers over the whole scene. For what? Do the lies this system tells hold up under the reality? Can any throne (of conquest!) be worth this? Any notions of honor?

And all of this is happening at the same time we see what striving for that throne of conquest and believing the deep, long-term lies (of conquest!) is doing to Rhaenyra -- Aemond is becoming monstrous, someone who will burn innocent people, and [as I go into detail about in this meta] so is she. The "show, don't tell" of that when we see how little Aegon, the brother they want to knock out of the way, actually wanted any of this! The whole set of lies is empty; it's certainly not worth burning cities full of people to death for it.

But their pride, their identity, their sense of family love, and now their very survival is all caught up in that. They're more tragic to me than the people who have seen it's all empty and not worth this. *That* is what Helaena was trying to tell Aemond - she wasn't trying to hurt him! She was trying to say: can't you see, it's not worth this? It doesn't matter.

(And, to be clear, the Rhaenyra parallels with Aemond are about how this thing is not worth all this death for anyone, son or daughter. Seeking after it destroys you and everyone you love. Not because you're a girl, but because the thing itself is broken and poisonous - there is no good way to sit on a throne of conquest, erected by people who burned innocents alive to dominate the population).

All of this is why I don't think the story hates or dismisses the male characters! Rather, I think women are being allowed to be total messes in plausible ways and it's showing a side of what is asked of men that isn't shown enough - when you fly off to battle thinking it will be grand (because societies tell boys from the time they're small that it will be) and then die in horror or have to live mentally and physically disabled as a man in a society that thinks that makes you less of a man (and therefore not a worthy person at all). Or you come home and physically hurt your sister and scare your mom. Criston thought it would be noble - all he wants now is to die. Similarly with Aegon too. And with Aemond... he went into this never intending to be someone who would engage in domestic violence against his sister, his mother. But now he is. He hasn't despaired, like Criston and Aegon, he's become even worse than that.

Violence has been depicted by Hollywood as something external to the characters largely over the past few decades. Something they do that gives them power. Maybe it makes them sad, traumatizes them, but it doesn't fundamentally change them forever inside in ways that make them feel lessened and warp their relationships. But that isn't what it is. At best, it is a necessary thing that leaves people deeply scarred. And most of the time it isn't necessary at all; the system and people making those decisions are corrupt and don't care about morality or spending human lives carefully.

Even when the writing falters (due to being screwed over by the studio! A month before production the studio cut the episodes from 10 to 8 - and then they forced them to film even when the writers' strike was going on and there was no way to adjust in rewrites anymore) they're aiming so damn high on so many levels that I just love it. And, no, not just because of the canon queerness! That is one of several difficult things they're trying to do simultaneously while being kneecapped.

[sundove88]

MHA: Heart of Glass Chapter 1: Diligence and Duty

Once upon a time, in a quaint little neighborhood that was also one of the poorest areas of a great city, there lived a little family of three: A father, a mother; and their teenage daughter Ochaco Uraraka.

Unlike most teenage girls in the city, who spent their time talking to their friends about boys and the latest fashion trends, Ochaco had to work hard, often cleaning the houses of various others in this great city, whether they be rich or poor, she had to clean a whole house just to make ends meet for her poor family. She cleaned the big houses of the rich and the small houses of the poor, tall apartment buildings in town and short cottages out in rural areas. There was no house she couldn’t leave sparkling clean. But she also had a special gift called a quirk- one that could manipulate gravity. That way, she could get to even the smallest corners in the house and leave them sparking clean when she was done. Whenever she exited a house, she was covered in soot, dirt, and various other debris from when she was inside. But she didn’t let the dirt on her face cloud the beautiful heart she had inside. However, this attracted the attention of a trio of neighborhood bullies- Shigaraki, Dabi, and Toga, who were known for looking down on others. But they bulled the poor especially, since they were very normal in terms of money, but the poor had anything but luxury.

“Hey, it’s that cleaner girl again, walking to work. Can’t she afford a bike? Oh, wait. She can’t!”, replied Shigaraki, his light blue hair accompanying the many hands on his face. He used those hands to break down the barriers between him and the innocent, and more often than not, he pickpocketed whenever he got the chance. “Yep. And Ochaco Uraraka? More like Cinder-Ochaco!”, laughed Dabi heartily. His blue flames flared to life as he cackled. “Yes! And since she’s so poor, there’s no chance that she’ll ever go to a party or two!”, Himiko Toga replied as she guzzled down a soda. But Ochaco just ignored their teasing and sat down on a nearby park bench, knowing that their words would never get to her. Knowing that the girl meant no harm to them, the pigeons, squirrels, and various other animals of the park scurried to be around her, knowing that she had lots of breadcrumbs and trail mix to offer them as snacks. Ochaco didn’t mind their company, even as her human friends arrived on the scene. They came from all parts of the city, and they considered the poor girl to be part of their loyal friend group, because of her good heart and dedication to her family. The animals trusted them as well, as when they approached, they stayed in their place and didn’t scutter off or fly away suddenly.

“You know, guys? I think they’re mean because they don’t have any friends of their own.”, the gentle girl said as she let the others sit next to her on the park bench as she took out her trusty laptop, checking her savings and seeing if she had enough to pay for her family’s expenses. “It seems like you’re getting there, Uraraka! How about we go to a local bookstore and maybe have some hot chocolate?”, replied Izuku Midoriya, her green haired friend who had a most powerful Quirk. “Yeah! And maybe one of these weekends, you can play some soccer with us at the park over there!”, said Katsuki Bakugo, an explosive young man. “Or we could go and grab some kakigori,” said Shoto Todoroki as he placed his bags down. The other kids hurried over and started giving various ideas: Momo Yaoyorozu suggested that she could go to the movies in her spare time, Eijiro Kirishima asked her if she could learn a new skill like carving statues, and so on, so forth.

“You guys have some great options, but my duties are my top priority. After all, I’ve gotta make ends meet so my family doesn’t get evicted by the landlord. I know he’s super nice, but I don’t know how long we’ll be staying at the apartment we live in.”, said Ochaco as she began to pack up her things and make her way home. As her friends waved goodbye, she promised them that things would get much better for her. Life was typical like this for the girl, with cleaning the houses of others to earn money, and the fact that she had amazing parents to support her all the while. It wasn’t everyday that one works hard to support their family and keep a roof over their head without their parents having their back at all times. Luckily, Ochaco’s good nature and kind heart didn’t go unnoticed, for a good Pro Hero skilled in the arts of thread making on his way to U. A. High took notice, and was on his merry way there.

But soon enough, one fateful invite would change the young girl’s life forever; in a way she could never even imagine.

[foxydivaxx]

Gossip Girl Prequel: Z After Dark

This is the full prequel of the Gossip Girl AU. As you can see, it is Zoro-centric. About time I placed the spotlight on him and show people how he turned out the way he did.

Trigger warning: mentions of suicide attempt, drugs, underage sex, abuse, depression, mental breakdown

How did his life get this way? One minute, he was onstage to present an award and the next, he immediately collapses.

He does not remember much other than feeling like shit a couple hours prior. Okay, he actually remembers now. This year has been a pretty turbulent year for him. His movies for the past two years have been flopping and his last single got trashed by critics and fans alike.

Who would have thought that the once mighty bankabke star Zoro Roronoa would have a mighty downfall like this? He spent all those years pretending whilst taking all that hate.

He is now suddenly reminded of his younger years where he would receive excessive beatings from the other kids in school growing up for his natural green hair and the fact that he was Japanese and his mother barely doing anything about it. As far as she was concerned, Zoro was a means to an end, a tool.

Speaking of his mother, that woman keeps lashing out at him and blames him whenever shit goes wrong, just like his now declining career. Ironic considering it was her poor decisions and micromanagement of her poor son’s life that caused all this. It has now began to manifest as the boy is overworked to death and is exhausted beyond measure. All that fame and money is worth what at the end of the day if this boy suddenly dies?

“Zoro!! Zoro!!” Mihawk calls out to his stepson who was unconscious. Perona, his daughter immediately calls for paramedics.

The boy could not respond as he was completely unconscious. There was mass pandemonium as fans and celebrities alike were horrified by what they had just witnessed.

At first, they all thought it was either a fake act or he tripped over something and fell and would always pull himself back up, something that seemed unlike Zoro since the Prince was almost always picture-perfect. This is a boy who debuted when he was just 3 years old, thrust into the spotlight prematurely by his mother from day one.

But after the boy refused to get up for close to an hour, this case became serious. Making matters worse is that his mother, his so-called manager, was not present. The paparazzi spotted her in Milan with a mysterious man, fueling cheating rumors and making many suspect that there was more to Zoro’s downward spiral.

There is also the story of her using Zoro to spite Sora her former rival because Sora was the former Queen of the Upper East Side and she always hated that woman and her kids.

There was also that infamous public argument Zoro had with his mother outside a restaurant a month prior to this. He was heard saying out loud in the video, “You shall know no peace!!”

“Is he sick?”

“Whatever happened to him?”

“His mother did something, didn’t she? That witch!!”

Questions began to mount as paramedics arrive on the scene, place an oxygen mask over his face and place him on a stretcher, taking him out of the building.

As expected, there were paparazzi outside, but thankfully, the bodyguards help to fend them off as Perona and Mihawk follow the paramedics and get into the ambulance. "Make sure that woman does not come near my son!!" Mihawk yells into the phone and then hangs up.

“Have you called Kuina and the others?” Perona nodded, trying to fight back tears. “I also called Zoro’s friends that were not in the building. They are on their way. Grimmjow and Sukuna are on their way.”

“And Sanji?” Perona nodded, trying hard to swallow the lump she felt in her throat. “T..That was the toughest call I had to make because of how much he means to him.” Mihawk sighs and places a hand over her shoulder. “You did very well.”

He was trying to be strong but even he himself felt like he was falling apart. Zoro may not be his birth son but the kid is the son he never had.

He had always been protective of the kid and often got into heated arguments with Terra over her maltreatment of her son.

Just because she did not achieve certain things when she was a kid does not give her the right to project her failures onto her son.

That was why Mihawk got Zoro his current friends. He needs other kids around his age around him who will be there for him and would guard that heart of his.

Mihawk has made a huge decision in regards to his own mental well-being and also Zoro’s safety and happiness in light of this incident and also the tabloid stories he has been seeing of Terra and that billionaire she met in Milan. He should have listened to Sora before hooking up with that woman.

Either way, he can sort that out this evening. Right now,his main concern is Zoro’s health.

*******************************************************

Grimmjow sighs as he gets into the taxi. Not too long ago, he saw Zoro’s fainting spell on live TV. He panicked because it is a well-known fact that his mother never had his best interests at heart and he and the others have tried to free him from that woman. It seems now it is going to become a reality.

Perona soon called and confirmed what had happened. He cannot believe that this was happening.

He told Zoro several times to stand up to his mother, but he did not know or understand the true extent of the abuse until he and Zoro started their secret recording sessions a couple months. Zoro approached him since he is a skilled music producer and entrusted this secret project to him. He also shot music videos for like 4 of those songs all without his mother knowing.

All those songs were pretty painful to listen to and were tearjerky. The worst part? He wrote all those songs himself.How long has the guy been pretending? Heck, he cried recording majority of these songs.

How nights did he spend alone crying himself to sleep? All that hard drinking and partying he had been doing is both a cry for help and also a possible way to slowly kill himself.

Not helping matters is Zoro telling him yesterday, “If anything happens, leak out the songs.” Why Zoro? Why did it have to come to this?!

He sighs and begins to upload the songs on every single digital platform. He also posted the songs and videos on his secret Twitter account and on Zoro's YouTube channel to help him promote the songs.

Almost immediately, the songs breaks the Internet as everyone mass downloads them and view them on YouTube to the point where Zoro gets the highest amount of views in his career. And the guy is only 15 years old now.

"Let us get him to number 1!!" a fan tweets online. Immediately the hashtag #FreeZoro starts trending online. All of Zoro's friends are happy to see this and they too join the movement. The rest of the industry joins in too.

*******************************************************

Hours later, Zoro finally wakes up in the hospital ward. “Ugh…” He still felt drowsy. “Zoro!!” Perona exclaims as she hugs her baby brother. His other siblings follow suit and hug him too.

The boy immediately breaks down in tears. “I….I’m so sorry…”

“No. This shit ain’t your fault. Mamma hurt you Zoro-kun, and we are gonna free you.” says Johnny, ruffling his brother’s hair. Kuina pats his head. “You will be fine.”

He nods, sniffing. “Dad filed a restraining order against your mother. He also filed for divorce.” His eyes widen in shock. “Really?!”

The others nodded. “Yeah he did. He also presented evidence to the court and asked for complete custody of you so as to protect you from that woman.” says Kuina.

Zoro was not surprised. His mother has been cheating on Mihawk for years and is a toxic person to be around. Now he understands why his father lost his sanity years ago and ended up in that asylum. That woman drove him mad and intends to do the same thing to her own son.

“What matters to me is Zoro’s safety and health. The doctor said that you passed out because you were extremely exhausted and malnourished” says Yosaku. “Which is why I brought food for you all!!” Zoro’s eyes light up once he sees his grandma and Mihawk. Yosaku gets up so that Mihawk can have his seat. Kuina and Perona help Grandma Roronoa dish out the food.

“You good kiddo?” he asks as he sits next to him. Zoro nods. “I have not been eating much and got zero sleep and zero social time.”

“That’s because your mother treated you like a damn slave and not the star that you truly are.” says Grandma. Zoro chuckles at this. He and his grandma were quite close when he was young.

“We are changing that. You are star yes but first and foremost, you are a kid.” says Mihawk. "And kids need a nice nourishing meal." says Grandma as he hands Zoro a bowl of rice balls. He grins. He used to eat these a lot when he was a kid.

"Thanks Grandma." He then begins to eat them. Happiness begins to fill him up as they are as tasty as he always remembered them. "Now I feel like a kid again." Everyone laughs.

It was at that moment that Zoro's friends arrive. "Marimo!!" Sanji yells as he rushes towards him and hugs him much to everyone's amusement. It is an open secret that Zoro and Sanji have a crush on each other.

"Hi Curly." Both of them knew each since they were kids. The fact that their nicknames are the very insults that they used to throw at each other as kids makes their relationship hilarious.

"You need to eat more and also rest." says the blonde. "He got a point dude because I warned you man." says Sukuna, shaking his head with a little smile on his face.

"Speaking of which, dude have a look." says Grimmjow who hands his phone over to him. Zoro looks at the activity of social media and his jaw drops. "OH MY GOD!!"

Everyone else takes a look and are shocked as well. "Let us capitalize on this." says Mihawk. "Thankfully, I asked the staff to pack up all of Zoro's stuff out of that damn house so that he moves in with me."

"Yes!!" says Perona. "We are also moving in with your guys too." says Kuina. Zoro grins. "Thanks Papa Hawk." Mihawk smiles and pats the boy on the head.

"See Zoro? You are sorted."

Meanwhile, Terra is in Milan chilling in her hotel room. She saw the hashtag but paid it no heed. She does not care about her son so long as she gets what she wants. Besides, the boy cannot access that money. Only she can. What do kids know anyway?

She scrolled and came across a song with Zoro's name attached to it called Are You Satisfied? She clicks on it and listens to it. He sang it in English and it was a pop rock track. She is horrified as that song is clearly referring to her.

Furious, she tries to call him. Regardless of how exhausted he is, he should pick up her calls. After all, she is his manager and mother. No response. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" She tries Mihawk and all of Zoro's step siblings. Also no response. She also tries the staff members and some of her friends. No response.

"THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT!!" She screams as she grabs a champagne bottle and throws it against the wall. "Okay. calm down. Calm down. Everything is gonna be okay. Must be pretty late right now. best try tomorrow.."

Both Zoro and Sanji qualify as the Britney for this verse, Zoro leans more towards the dark conservatorship aspect due to his mother's controlling and abusive nature and Sanji is more the looks department and both of them are amazing dancers and share similar styles. Though Zoro is a lot darker than Sanji.

[radkindoffeminist]

Today in idiots I argue with on TikTok:

Original video: It’s about if child support should be given for specific things/limited rather than being given as a cash sum. The story is about a guy who’s conflicted because he grew up as a child of divorce where his mum used child support to get an education to support her and her two kids and is doing better for it BUT now he has a kid with a woman he’s not with and is paying more for stuff for her in addition to the child support which he’s not even sure is used for the child.

My original response (in response to someone agreeing that it would never work): If anything, making women prove that it was all spent on the child would backfire on these men. They want to use it to prove that women are just spending it on themselves but really it would show how much goes into raising a child and they would have to pay more. (Side note: Still think it’s a bad idea, but just think it would massively backfire if implemented.)

Idiot Man: You mean like a woman using child support to pay for her education?

Me: OMG! Because that’s what the story with the unreliable narrator says actually happened so that’s obviously true for all women??? Anyway, the children were still fed, housed, and clothed so child support must have been used on them.

Idiot Man: Then where did the money for her education come from?

Me: Savings? Financial aid? Alimony? College loans? Her job?

Idiot man: It didn’t come from any of that.

Me: And you can prove that?

Idiot Man: The kids didn’t have new clothes.

Me: That proves nothing? The story is told from the POV of the son who likely didn’t know the full extend of his mother’s finances and therefore can’t make a judgement on this stuff. We can’t know if her education was actually paid for by child support without hearing from the mother because the OP is not a reliable source about his mother’s financial position.

Idiot Man: *something about society*

Me: This is about this story. But if you want to argue about society then please.

Idiot man (beginning to talk in a way which is straight up incomprehensible in order to talk down to me): Provide evidence that this story is false.

Me: Provide evidence that the child support money specifically was used to fund the mother’s education.

Idiot man: That’s not the point. I’m not the intellectually inept one who is trying to call the story false.

Me: I’m not calling the story false.

Idiot man: Yes, you are.

Me: Nope. Just saying that the child support money was used to feed, house, and clothe the children as they were fed, housed, and clothed and that we cannot know for certain if child support was being used for the mother’s education as the child is an unreliable narrator in the story. You’re calling me intellectually inept but the alternative to being critical of the story due to the unreliable narrator is believing every single story on the internet without question if there is no evidence to the contrary which is not the smart thing to do here.

Also, at some point he also argued that child support was too high because she could afford education but also questioned why they were unable to afford new clothing. Apparently, if you receive child support then you can’t be too poor to buy clothes for your children!

[saintsenara]

I'm curious about arachne!

thank you so much for the ask, @midnightstargazer - and i'm sorry for taking so long to getting around to answering this work in progress tag game question...

arachne is a piece i'm putting together for @ladiesofhpfest, specifically for the week on character studies - you can find the full schedule of themes here.

as with many of my pieces for last year's iteration, i'd like to use the fest to take a deep-dive not only into female characters who don't get a lot of attention in comparison to male ones, but into female characters who don't get a lot of fandom attention full stop. I've got stories in the works about mrs zabini, merope gaunt, kendra dumbledore, petunia dursley etc.

but this one is about eileen prince, severus snape's mother.

when eileen appears in fan-fiction, which is rarely, she is often given a standard backstory: she's from a pureblood family, often an elite or influential one, which disowns her when she runs off with the muggle, tobias snape; her marriage is marked by poverty and abuse; and she dies before 1991 at the latest [often, she's dead before her son becomes a death eater], frequently at her husband's hands.

and this backstory does, of course, have a strong canon basis: snape's memories of his childhood, seen by harry in order of the phoenix and deathly hallows, reveal undeniably that eileen was a victim of domestic violence and that she spent the 1960s and 1970s - at the very least - as notably poor even within a poor town.

that she's a pureblood, however, has as its canon basis only harry deciding at the end of half-blood prince that she must have been, in order to force a comparison between snape - who has just murdered dumbledore - and voldemort. that she's from an elite pureblood family has no basis more reliable than this fandom's belief that all purebloods are glamorous aristocrats, and that aristocracy is a good and admirable thing...

but, of course, the thing about harry's assessment of snape's character at the end of half-blood prince is that he's... wrong. snape is neither a coward nor a murderer, he didn't hate lily, and he's not a loyal death eater at all.

so, that made me think... what if he's wrong about eileen? after all, if her marriage to a working-class muggle man is announced in the daily prophet, she can hardly be supposed to be from a blood supremacist family? we know that not all pureblood families live glamorous lives on ancestral estates, why couldn't some of them live in terraced houses in declining industrial towns? why couldn't eileen and tobias have grown up together, have believed themselves a love story, and then discovered as they tried to make a life together as adults that the magic which seemed so irrelevant between them as children only brings resentment once there are bills to pay and no money to pay them with? what effect would that have on a son already primed to be radicalised against muggles...?

so, arachne is eileen's life story, featuring me on my soapbox about how social class is the most important theme of the series and also featuring me on my soapbox about how every character is irish in some way.

i am keeping coy for now [which, while i'm on my 'everyone is irish' soapbox is a phrase i do not sound good saying out loud...] about why the title is what it is...

[bozepomagaj]

College AU!Trigun (part 1)

I can't believe I'm actually posting something I made on a long ass car ride LMAO. I haven't written fanfics in a long time, and this is my first time with 'x reader' fanfics so you'll have to bear with me on this one, I'm treating this as an experiment to see if I can even make these types of fanfics (also I'm a lesbian. But I'm not immune to babygirls.). Criticism is always appreciated on this blog🤝. Also wanted to mention that english is not my first language so I apologize for my poor/repetitive vocabulary. This was proof read but I also apologize in case I missed a mistake or two.

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Summary: you end up at a party and save a mysterious but pretty blondie that your dear friend won't shut up about

Tw: drugging

Cw: swearing, 'questionable noises' get brought up once

Word count: 2.2k

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

There was an infamous guy on campus that seemingly, everyone knew. Rumors about him spread quickly every couple of weeks but what we do know is this:

He came here through a recommendation. Didn't have to work hard like the rest because his relative, supposedly late mother, was an up-and-coming biologist who apparently stuck her nose where she shouldn't have and got killed in an 'accident'. No records of said crash could be found, presumably because the government did their best to cover it up. He barely studies and instead spends time at parties getting drunk out of his mind but luckily he's incredibly smart which means all he really has to do is anxiously study the night before the test and he'll get incredible results everytime. He's kind, caring, cheerful, and many other positive adjectives, or so you've been told by your dear friend Meryl who's been trying to get you to meet him for the past few weeks. She always complained about how you need to 'live a little' because you never went out, always nose deep in some book studying or on your phone, never the outgoing type. She never forced you to go out but this time, she had to because you needed to meet Vash Saverem, the guy she would talk about nonstop.

You stood in front of the door, loud music blaring, people screaming in excitement as their favorite song came on, lights flashing in your eyes until all you could see is white. You could even make out some... questionable sounds but this was normal. This was college. You were going to grab your phone to call Meryl when she bursts out of the front door carrying quite a large, half-unconscious man.

"Oh my god you came afterall, I thought you were gonna ditch me!"

You rolled your eyes at the comment, she promised you 20 bucks if you finally came out of your hidey-hole and who are you to say no to that type of money?

"Yeah, I need to get out from time to time too."

"Good! Now come in!"

She grabs your hand and pulls you inside, giggling while doing so. Clearly she was a little tipsy already. She dragged you to the only clean table in the house, most likely defended it with her life to make sure it stays like that.

"So it's just the two of us?"

"Nope. Others are scattered around, I'll go and find them okay? You just stay here."

It was only then that the realization of what you're doing hit you. You're about to meet her friends. 3 other complete strangers that you only knew some bits and pieces about (except Vash) and you had no idea if they were even gonna like you. You looked around nervously, contemplating if this really was a good idea. The place was already cramped but somehow it felt even more cramped and stuffy in this moment.

"Are you like... sure about this?"

"What do you mean?"

It was honestly surprising how you didn't meet her friends yet, considering how much time she spent around them and how many random stories she told you about them. You made an image in your head of every single one of the individuals she spoke of. The heavily religious Nicholas D. (she said it stands for dickhead) Wolfwood who, despite studying theology and being the first person in the church on a Sunday morning, drank like a 40 year old man with marriage problems. Milly Thompson, a total sweetheart but also not the brightest bulb who went to the gym at least 4 days every week and was fucking shredded and him. Vash. The one and only. She was convinced you two would be great friends when you meet eachother but you doubted that, considering how many stories she told you about him going out to random parties. She left as quickly as she came, looking for her dear friends. You were never much of a drinker so you just sat there, looking at your phone, rejecting random advances from drunk guys&girls alike. 20 minutes pass by and Meryl is still nowhere to be seen. You get a little concerned, these types of parties could get... out of hand at times so you get up, looking for her. You walk around, trying your best not to bump into too many people but you're still met with an occasional 'hey' and 'watch it'. It's then that you witness a different scene. Two guys holding a blondie who was clearly drunk out of his mind, babbling something while the two tried to drag him upstairs. Weird... you thought. But it was then you saw them force his mouth open and quickly throw in a small, pink pill. You might not have been to many parties, but you've seen your fair share of movies and shows to know exactly where this was going. Other people saw the scene, too, but just ignored it.

Fucking Bystander effect.

You kept looking at the scene unfolding infront of you, your mind racing at a 100 miles per hour. You wanted to help obviously but could you really go up against two guys at the same time? Or would you just end up making the situation worse? It's then that you saw both of them hesitating as the blondies legs gave out on him. It was now or never. Quickly, you approached them, putting on the bravest face one could muster up in a situation like this.

"Hey, what are you two doing?"

Their heads snap back, fear in their eyes. Clearly they didn't expect someone to approach them while doing this. They looked at eachother stammering some excuses but you cut them off.

"If you don't mind, I'll be taking my friend back so he'll sober up."

You were quick, hoisted him on your back and dragged him to the nearest bathroom, locking the two of you in a stall. He was completely out of it and you could only hope it was because of the alcohol and not the pill. You forced his mouth open, he didn't swallow the pill. But even then, it must've melted at least a little. You grab the pill and flush it down the toilet, then proceed to slap him a few times so he could maybe, just maybe get a hold of himself.

"Hey, buddy wake up. What's your name?"

You kept trying but it wasn't working. He tried to say something but the words were slurred and nonsensical. You ran to the bar to get a cup of water then returned, making him drink it in hopes it would somehow help. You got your phone and tried to call Meryl to find out this mysterious mans identity at the very least but she wasn't picking up. Texting also didn't work. Frustration and anxiety kept building up, you never expected to be in this situation when suddenly, the guy handed you his apartment keys which you recognized immediately. Meryl had s similar pair which meant they lived in the same apartment complex. After some weird glances and bumping into people, you two managed to drag yourself out of the house, it felt like hours had passed by the time you were in front of his apartment, the poor guy still completely out of it. You unlocked the door hastily and dragged him inside. The apartment was... large. And fancy. Not really what you expected from someone like him. You look around, trying to find a bedroom and on your 4th try, you do. You drag him inside and lay him on the bed, taking off his long coat and his shirt so he doesn't overheat. You give him some more water to drink when finally, Meryl calls you back. Her voice is muffled, loud music still blaring and people talking in the background.

"Where'd you go? I can't find you anywhere."

"No shit, I'm freaking out cuz I'm at some guys's apartment."

You hear Meryls voice shift to being slightly panicked.

"What? Did they take you there? Are you okay?"

"I am fine but the guy certainly isn't! Someone gave him a fucking pill and I dragged him back to his apartment, he didn't swallow the pill so like... maybe he'll be fine."

"Holy fuck, uh, do you want me to come over or something?"

"I'll be fine but I'm going straight home after this. Maybe I can meet your friends another time."

"Yeah, yeah no problem. Sorry about all this I uh... didn't expect this."

You hang up and sigh heavily, putting your head in your hands assessing your situation. You're in a random, half-unconscious guys apartment, sitting down on the floor close to tears because this was NOT how this night was supposed to go. You were supposed to be drinking while meeting new friends and overall having a hell of a time. You decide there's no time to wallow in your misery and you get up, checking back on the guy. He's sleeping soundly, his beautiful facial features still visible by the moonlight seeping through the window. In a way he looked angelic... otherworldy. You grabbed a pen and some paper and wrote a small note.

"Dear stranger,

We don't know eachother but I dragged you home cuz you almost got roofied. If you still feel sick in the morning, please call an ambulance. I hope your hangover isn't too bad.

Ps. Here's my phone number in case you need help with anything."

You left it on the nightstand and quietly exited the apartment. You stumbled back home, absolutely wasted from... well, everything. You got changed, did your nightly routine and the moment your head hit the pillow you fell asleep, exhausted from everything that happened.

-|-

You woke up to the sound of your phone blaring and vibrating. You grabbed it with an annoyed groan slipping past your lips. You tried to turn off your alarm... but realize it was actually a call. Who the, and excuse my language, FUCK would be calling you at 6:07am? You answer with a raspy voice, not even bothering to clear your throat.

"Oh my God you actually picked up, hi! I'm the guy you helped yesterday."

And just like that you were wide awake. Memories of last night flooded your brain as panic set in again.

"Hey, hi, are you okay? Did you call an ambulance?"

"No I didn't, I'm doing fine now thanks to you. I wanted to thank you for helping me out. If I'm being honest I don't remember a thing so... I'm just glad I'm home safe. Thank you."

His voice was like honey, you couldn't tell if he actually sounded that nice or because you still weren't fully awake and being complemented this early in the morning gave you a kind of an adrenaline rush.

"It's no big deal really, it's the least I could've done."

You replied with a small giggle. Not sure what was so funny but just the fact that someone came to thank you for your good deed felt nice.

"It is a big deal though! I'm treating you to coffee or some cakes, I know a really good place. But it would be nice if I knew your name."

Overly-sweet, he was just like the cakes he mentioned. You couldn't help yourself but to smile, it's rare to find people like these today.

"Yeah, sure. The name is (Y/N) (L/N). And you, my mysterious drunken man?"

He giggled at the nickname. For someone to sound so angelic and energetic at 6:10am, he left you in an awe.

"Vash Saverem."

And with that your jaw just dropped. He was the guy you were supposed to get drunk with yesterday, chat about something random and not drag him half-dead body home, wondering if he'll be okay or not. You stayed silent for a couple seconds before nervously talking.

"Oh my God I know you. Kind of, you don't know me but- it's hard to explain okay? We'll talk more when we meet up, bye."

You could hear him protest on the other side of the phone but you quickly hung up out of shock and disbelief. It's like this couldn't get any weirder. You quickly call Meryl, she was gonna murder you for calling her this early but it would only be right to tell her about her friend, right? The phone rang once... twice... three times... four times... and then you heard a loud, pissy groan.

"Seriously. 6am? What is wrong with you."

"Remember the guy I had to drag home yesterday? Turns out it was Vash."

Thank the lord you moved your phone away from your ear because the screech she let out was ungodly.

"You're kidding right!? How do you know!? And is he even okay now?"

Her voice was panicked, you could tell she was concerned about her friend.

"Yes, yes he's fine now. He called me this morning cuz I left him my phone number in case he needed me for something. I still think you should go check on him, just in case."

Meryl hangs up hastily, most likely to run over to Vash's apartment to see how her friend is doing. You just stay there staring at the wall.

You wonder if you'll ever get those 20 bucks she mentioned.

[zydrateacademy]

Sorry I guess?

This will probably be my only post about it, and I may or may not even bother recording the game for youtube. Listen, some day I’m going to be trans/non-binary. Came out to my brother and mother a few years back, with her passing my brother is the only one that knows I’m going a bit NB later. I know all the shit JKR has said, done, and contributed to. And I might be the only T/NB on the internet who’s saying: I’m probably going to buy Hogwarts Legacy. Saw a post on reddit at one point that no amount of justification can amount for money money in her pockets to put towards shitty associations. I don’t disagree, but despite all the buzz against them, Salvation Army is still ringing their bells outside all my stores.

I still have a few justifications that I just want to get off my chest and leave it at that. First, I stopped pirating games since the beginning of my first job back in like, 2014. I was actually playing a pirated Borderlands 2 when I got the call that K-mart wanted me to come in. Bought the game with my first paycheck. There’s also the fact that our household got a -few- emails from specific companies (EA being one of them when my brother and I pirated Spore) so I’d rather just avoid all that.

Piracy is also a bit complicated now. I’m in a subreddit dedicated to it and I couldn’t find any beginners guide. Over the years I’ve also come to rely and appreciate Steam’s automatic patching of various games that I play. I essentially don’t want to have to do a complete reinstall every time they patch out a bug. Saw a post referring to some program that allows you to isolate patch fixes without doing this, but again this is a bit over my head. Legacy will also be running Denuvo(sp?) or something which will apparently make the game much harder to crack. I know this reads like “oh no poor baby would rather fund anti-trans movements than reinstall a game once a month oh noooo!” Listen. Money is already spent. Funds are already there. Laws are already being passed. This arguement reminds me of my time working in grocery about people not wanting to buy specific products. My guy, the product is already on the shelf. The store has already paid for it, the money is already with the company. It’s marked up in-store so they can just get their own money back plus the profit, but not purchasing that cereal will not stop the money from already being there. I googled it. JK Rowling is apparently worth around 820 million dollars. And that information is a year old. The money is already there. I also read a post, some tweet-shot of someone saying “I don’t do politics” and the response was “Well, politics are gonna do you.” I mean fair, but I’m a part time produce stocker. I am not in a position to make a sign and march down to protest and boycott shitty practices. I am constantly seeing posts all over the internet calling for a boycott of this game but man, the game looks like something I’ve actively wanted out of the franchise for a long time. There was a series of games that you basically just play as Harry Potter throughout the same plots as the books, just game-ified. I wanted something more like what Legacy delivers, a sort of open-world class-taking sandbox. And they’re giving us the killing curse. Cool! Also you can be trans in the game. That’s pretty rad. I just want to enjoy things, man. I’ll bury my head in the sand while I play the game so I don’t bother anyone with it.

[lala1267]

Wild side

Summarry: you were a poor Russian girl who found the love of her life

Warnings: father is abusive mother, drinking and smoking.

This is a rushed fanfic so it ain't that good tbh.

My name was Ivana. My mother was Russian and my father was British. Growing up I want taught to be polite and sit like a lady, I was taught to do what I wanted and live freely. From a young age I didn't fit in with any girls, I was to mean, rough, honest, and I didn't dress like them. This was because I grew up a poor child, I didn't get my first dress until I was 18. I grew up in Russia, Moscow. I didn't fit in with any boys either because I was a girl. However I did make some freinds but I preferred to be alone. In Russia I started to party and drink and smoke from a young age. It was considered normal other there. But when I moved to the US when I was 15 I had a reality check.

My father was absent all of my life unless he needed money from my mother. Although u was a wild child and I was having fun in Russia, my home wasn't the best place to be. My mother was always arguing when my father was around. The arguments usually resulted in my mother getting attacked by my drunk father. My mother made sure to teach me how to fight because she didn't want me to grow up and have an abusive husband like she did. I had many fights with people over in Russia and many more in the US. we had to move to the US to get away from my father who was in Russia at the time. Although my father was barley around, he was always watching from a far. My mother grew concerned so we flew other yo the United States.

When I arrived I instantly knew that I wasn't welcome here. I was tall, pale, and had long black hair. Even in Russia I was teased for my black hair since everyone else was blonde. I was blessed with beauty, infact I was drop dead gorgeous, but I was foreign. I didn't know a word of English. I was only 15. Even though I was raised to be tough and strong, I spent many nights crying because of how different I was.

A few years passed, I was 17 now, I was almost fluent in English but I had a russian accent. My accent sounded thick and scary. This was one of the reasons I didn't have freinds. I was a tall girl so I didn't have a boyfriend either. People would avoid me because of my scary yet beautiful appearance.

It was a Friday, I decided to go to a club near my house. They let me straight in without checking my age since they had saw me drinking In every alleyway. I had a drinking problem even though I was 17, I couldn't control my liquor. I sat down next to one of the dining tables in the club, I was opposite the dance floor, I sat there on my own, puffing on my cigarette and drinking strong vodka. This was like and escape for me, all of the trauma I had endured as a kid, I had no freinds, I was lonely. Liquor helped me escape from the world that I lived in. I was slightly drunk but I was still able to walk and talk. As I puffed on my cigarette a black haired boy sat opposite me. I shot him a confused look before taking another gulp of the liquor. He admired my facial features for a moment before speaking.

"Honey don't you think your to young to be drinking and smoking?" I just rolled my eyes and minded my business.

"Hey I'm talking to you" I had to respond now.

"What do you want" I said with my accent surprising him.

"Are you Russian" he asked. I just nodded.

"Welk then I just wanted to come and talk to ya cause you look a bit sad"

"I'm completely fine" you said without realising there was a tear rolling down your cheek. The man looked into my icey blue eyes before talking.

"Well I gotta say you are a very pretty girl" you were shocked at his comment, i looked at his blue eyes before talking.

"No one's ever said that to me before" my voice sounded like a sweet little Russian girls voice. My voice tended to change depending what mood I was in.

"What, I would think that you would have atlest three boyfriends!" He said as the both of us giggled. He took my hand and placed a kiss on it. My cheeks went a shade of pink. I didn't even know who this man was.

"What's your name" you asked.

"Elvis presley" I nodded before replying. "I like that name, it suits you"

"What's your name honey"

"Ivana"

"That's a beautiful name, but how come your drinking and smoking, how old are you?"

I hesitated to say my age to him but he was so nice so I just did.

"17"

"Oh my, ya can't be drinking and smoking that young darlin" I just rolled my eyes. This conversation was going downhill until he invited me to his house.

We arrived at the house, it was beautiful, it was called Graceland. I stayed many nights at that house, me and Elvis eventually became inseparable. We started dating. He was the love of my life. I eventually moved in with him, this all happened so fast but it was worth it.

Elvis kissed me goodnight every night, I made him breakfast every morning, we lobed eachover to death. Some people critized Elvis for dating a 'crazy russian' as the press said. But I learned to ignore what the media said and just live happily with Elvis. We danced tougher, we sang tougher, we did everything together. He brought me lots of things and clothes. He took me to all of his shows. It felt magical to watch him perform. The thing Elvis loved the most about me on the outside was my voice. I hated it, I always wanted a soft American accent but I got by. This was true love and it was the best love.

[cicidarkarts]

Hospice - 5: Reckoning (Finale)

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Ominis adored nothing more than getting his mother her favorite snack from the vending machine. The payout from their last few bets had been immense, leaving Ominis and Sebastian rich as poor kids could be. While he pocketed most of the money to use for a rainy day, he siphoned some into the simple pleasures of life. It was worth the pleasant silence with his mum, rather than that oppressive mess that his meals usually entailed—always waiting for his mother's venomous fangs to clamp down on him. Ominis wished his cheese Danish and lemonade mother could be his always mother.

But Ominis also adored time spent with Sebastian and Anne. While Anne was sometimes too ill to leave her bed, he and Sebastian would enjoy time together in the playroom or out at the park.

"Can you read that guy's mind?" Sebastian asked as they sat in the sunshine, nibbling on ice creams. "Which guy?" "That dude jogging—quick, before he passes!"

Ominis honed in on the sound of running steps and probed into the shallow parts of the man's mind. 

"Music lyrics," said Ominis. "Must have earbuds in." "That is so cool," Sebastian gushed. "Did you ever think of doing something with that power? Something great?" "Not really. Before all this, I pretended that I couldn't do it at all. I just want to be normal." "Normal is boring! Look at me, I'm normal and I practically put myself to sleep." Ominis giggled. "You're not boring." "Neither are you. If there's one good thing that came out of being in hospice, it's that I got to meet you. We'll stay friends after this, right? Whether you get out first or Anne and I do, we'll keep being friends, won't we?" "I wouldn't have it any other way."

“I’m just waiting for my name to pop up here!” said Tony during their Sunday death bet. “You joking?” asked Sebastian. “We can’t bet on you unless we wanna lose.” “Take a chance, kid!” said Phil.

Ominis took his opportunity while a nurse scolded Marcus for pulling his IV out for being “damn itchy”. Between telling off her patient and being overworked, it was difficult to squeeze into her deeper thoughts. He passed by a ‘I’d rather be working with the children’, to her regretting saying that. After all, as she well knew, having to watch children die was a horrid part of being a pediatric nurse.

‘Norice loves the children so much, but I couldn’t imagine being her. She gets so attached to them. I hated hearing her cry last night over that sweet new girl, Anne.’ Ominis’ heart skipped a beat as he continued listening, hearing Norice’s voice through the nurse’s memory. ‘I can’t believe how bad she’s gotten over the past week!’ sobbed Norice. ‘She’s so sweet, she doesn’t deserve this. I don’t think she’s gonna make it to next week and I don’t know how to tell her brother!’

Ominis stopped immediately. He couldn’t bear to hear the distress and fear in Norice’s voice, and he heard Sebastian in his mind crying the same way. Ominis’ stomach churned violently and he felt a burning and tingling creep up his throat.

He hurried out of the room and into the bathroom. Hunching over the toilet, nothing actually happened. But sick sat atop his stomach, threatening to come up.

“Ominis?” came Sebastian’s voice. “Are you okay?” Ominis swallowed, and spoke as calmly as he could. “Yeah. I’m—” He swallowed again as his stomach flipped. “—okay.” Sebastian’s footsteps stopped outside of Ominis’ stall. “You don’t sound okay. You looked like you were gonna barf.” “I think it’s something I ate.” “Need me to get a nurse?” “No, I… I’ll be all right.” "Okay, if you're sure."

While it shocked Sebastian that Ominis didn't want to put a death bet down, he didn't press it. Ominis took every chance he could that week to visit Anne. She couldn't get out of bed, so he and Sebastian would play games with her on the blankets. During a rousing game of checkers, she shouted, "Look, a distraction!", before he heard the gentle clinking of illegal moves.

"Made you look." "Anne, I'm blind." "And I'm the winner so what's your point?"

They all had a grand laugh at this. Ominis held onto his tears. Such intense emotions from his joyous laughter nearly brought them out.

One day in the cafeteria, he and Sebastian got Anne's favorite foods. Ominis kept quiet all week about Anne's supposed doom, and perhaps that was best given it was Saturday evening and Anne was still around. Maybe the pediatrician had catastrophized, and maybe he would be wrong. Sebastian, wonderfully oblivious to it all and ever the optimist, kept up with the latest gossip and relayed it to Ominis on their way back.

"Did you hear? Tony coded last night. I overheard one of the nurses say so. He barely made it. Isn't that crazy? I didn't think that old geezer was actually mortal." "Maybe we should've bet on him."

Despite Sebastian’s laughter, Ominis regretted saying that the moment the words left his lips. He didn't think he should be encouraging these death bets. With all the mind-reading and horrible vicarious memories that came with it, he wasn't so sure how much longer he could continue.

"Sebastian. Maybe we should stop with these death bets." "Stop? Why?" "I really don't like reading other people's thoughts. It's invasive and horrible." "But Ominis, we should be honing your skills, not running away from them!" "I get that, I really do. But here, in the hospital… I've heard things I was never supposed to hear."

Sebastian stopped walking. Silence overtook them, leaving only the ambience of the hospital. Beeping. Scraping. Low chatter. Gentle sobs.

"What did you hear?" Sebastian asked. "All kinds of things—" "You're hiding something from me. What did you hear?" Sebastian repeated, forceful and desperate. Ominis heard the deep frown in his friend's voice. "Sebastian, I… I'm sorry. I heard from one of the nurses that… Anne isn't doing well." "Not doing well?" he demanded. "What do you mean 'not doing well'?" "Please, don't make me say it."

A sudden harsh shove made Ominis stagger back. His heart pounded and he braced himself for another push, or worse.

"Why didn't you tell me!?" Sebastian said. "I could've known this whole week, I could've been there for Anne, but you just kept it a secret!?" "I'm so sorry, Sebastian, I didn't know what to say." "I'm sick of people treating me like some fragile little kid! I thought you of all people would understand that, but you kept me in the dark just as much as everyone else!" Sebastian sighed hard. "I gotta go. I gotta be with Anne."

He stormed off. Ominis wasn't sure if he should follow, and decided to eat his food in the cafeteria.

Sunday morning, Ominis awoke to an utter ruckus down the hall. He shot up out of bed, snatched his cane, and hurried toward the noise. Nurses and doctors rushed around, shouting orders and information as a machine beeped loudly and continuously in the background.

"Continue chest compressions! Get that IV on there!" "Anne, no!" Sebastian cried. "Get the kid out of here!" "C'mon, sweetie—" "Let go! I need to be with my sister!"

Ominis stayed back, unsure of navigating the absolute chaos before him. His palms grew slick on his cane as he listened to Anne's monitor and its long, horrid beep.

"Please don't die, Anne!" Sebastian begged. “Sebastian!” Solomon shouted.

It sounded like Sebastian was being dragged away as his cries and distressed straining came closer to Ominis.

“Ominis!” Sebastian called before he collapsed against him.

He sobbed and trembled in Ominis’ arms. The shock of it all stole Ominis’ voice.

The dead silence of the hospital bore into him. He and Sebastian sat around Anne’s body. The monitor plug had been pulled after an hour of unsuccessful resuscitation. Sebastian’s keening had faded. All that was left was a ringing in his ears.

Ominis didn't understand how it was fair. How could someone as young and full of life as Anne die while his bitter mother continued living? How could someone so innocent be consigned to such a cruel fate while nasty people such as his mother walk freely? He grit his teeth and gripped his cane. If self-control hadn't been ingrained in him at a young age, he would've gladly given into his temptation to smash everything in his grasp. He pulled his knees up to his face and sobbed in the cold darkness of the lifeless room, choking on the faint scent of sweets.

[pumakaji64]

Had a particularly awful day at work today... [tw mass shooting threats]

After we left yesterday one of our coworkers, the assistant manager, started making threats that he was gonna 'blow up this whole building' and didn't care who was inside- My mom and I only found out about it this morning when we got there and our manager told us. Our co-worker was scheduled to work todday day at 7:30, our manager told us he was going to be fired as soon as he arrived but the police would be there in case things went bad, but he ended up seemingly taking it well and left- he is also now blacklisted from stepping on the store property and will get in trouble if he's caught back here...

but I just feel so fucking sick to stomach over it... the whole day I was terrified- as if him just being prohibited is gonna matter if he does decide to follow up on his threats against the store- we don't even have a reliable exit close by in the deli! The closest thing is a door with an alarm system but it only opens after being pressed on for 15 seconds! Neither my mother or I go in tomorrow, but she goes in on Sunday alone and then we both go in Monday-Thursday and neither of us feel safe there anymore.

Like, fuck man- another coworker of ours whose known this guy longer then either of us said that he once told her "Don't worry [name], I'll message you before I do it."- idk when this was- could've been years ago- Yesterday, I noticed several of our large bowls were leaking and we told our co-worker about it and even then I noticed his tone was oddly calm but I brushed it off as him just trying to be level-headed about it only to learn today he was stabbing the bowls in anger with his personal knife and that's why they began to leak... like........ I don't want to go back there but we have to- I can't believe we have to go through something like this AGAIN after last years threat at the other area we worked at... I want to quit so fucking bad and just say 'fuck the money' but I know my mother won't and I can't bear leaving her there alone.

And God... it's just another sucker-punch I'm dealt with... My wrist is losing all mobility and there is no cure, I'll likely have to get surgery that will ease my pain but only for 10 years, I might have fucking cancer, I need to get a biopsy done and won't know the results for up to like 2 weeks, I just spent 800 dollars on a CT scan, and all my other medical issues I haven't gotten started with dealing with..... now this as well... knowing any day in that store I could die, my mother could die, some other poor person could die... all cuz we were in the wrong place at the wrong time...

I just don't know what to do anymore... I feel so defeated........ but, tomorrow is my birthday... so- today I'll worry and give-up, but tomorrow I'm gonna act like nothing is wrong and try to enjoy every second of that day..................................

I really, truly, and deeply hope I'm wrong about all of this, and no one will get hurt. I'm just really scared you guys...