#maybe if I get out of this country my parents will leave me alone

[ang00r]

hi if u want new stickers or eid cards shop here n fund my holiday

[spectral-phases]

I need people to stop getting so precious about Clark "not letting" Bruce kill the Joker after Jason’s death post-Crisis. Everyone acts like it was like this:

But it was more:

So, we all know the story. Actually. Wait. Maybe we don't. So. The story beneath the cut.

Jason got benched as being Robin because he was not dealing well with his parents' deaths, felt like he was no longer wanted because he was adopted specifically to be Robin (and Bruce is shit at making his kids feel loved a lot of times). Jason discovered the woman who raised him was his step mother, not his bio mother. He goes looking for bio mom. Finds bio mom, she hugs him and tells him she's missed him so much, Bruce contemplates letting Jason live with his family if that would make him happier despite being obviously cut up about the idea of losing Jason. Bio mom is being extorted by the Joker to let him ship out Joker Venom disguised as medical supplies because he can't just steal the supplies and sell them. Bruce has to go stop the shipment of Joker Venom, his portable chopper is too small for two, so Jason is left behind. Jason is told to wait, but The Killing Joke just happened and his bio mom is alone with the Joker (who is insane, capricious and evil), so, obviously he has to save his mother and could not wait. Bio Mom is outside, no guards, Jason says, "Hey, I'm actually Robin, I'm here to save you from the Joker" and she says "Nah, he's actually gone, so I'm fine. But let's go inside so I can grab my things and we can leave." Her things turn out to be a gun to point at Jason after leading him to the Joker. Jason is too stunned to move. The Joker and his goons beat Jason up and then the Joker uses the crowbar to finish beating him to a presumed death. His bio mom at some point couldn't bear to watch it anymore and turns around to smoke a cigarette. Once Joker’s done, bio mom asks what they're going to do about Batman, and the Joker is all "oh. Yeah, lol. Probably was a bad idea to kill his kid. Whoops. My bad." And then ties up the bio mom to kill her and erase any evidence he brutally attacked/killed Jason. The Joker sets a bomb on a timer and leaves. Jason uses the last of his strength to untie his bio mom so she can escape. He can't see well enough to try and disarm the bomb. She tries to get them both out. The door is locked. Jason shields her as the bomb goes off, but she dies just as Batman comes up and tells him the Joker did it, calls Jason a hero, says he deserved a better mother (he did) but does not/is unable to own up to her part in Jason’s death before dying herself. Bruce finds Jason’s body and is fucking devastated.

So after that, Bruce chases the Joker down to the UN because the Joker lucked into being a diplomat for Iran and is now meeting at the UN assembly in New York. Bruce is 100% set on doing a premeditated murder of the Joker for Jason. The US government is aware of this. They hire Superman to grab Batman to try and talk him down because the Joker has diplomatic immunity for past crimes. It does not go well.

"That’s the law, not Justice." Batman is 100% still going to kill the Joker. Everyone knows. Superman knows. Superman says the stupid thing is putting vengeance above the interests of the country, not killing Joker.

Batman sneaks into the Joker’s room, and the Joker (forgetting his earlier desire to not get fucking killed by Batman) is like "oh man, I wish I could have seen your face when you found his body" and further needles Bruce with a "Or are you here to thank me for getting rid of him for you?" Making Bruce triple down on killing the Joker.

"Your confirming it makes what I have to do a lot easier."

Bruce manages to get in to observe the UN meeting as Bruce Wayne. Superman is disguised as a guard. Bruce is seething, watching the Joker, knowing that is the guy who killed Jason.

"I should have terminated his vile existence years ago. But I didn't. I couldn't. His insanity gained him a stay of execution. But no longer. ... Jason’s dead."

They both know the Joker is too stupid and lacks the impulse control needed to not attack the UN and immediately lose his immunity, which is the only thing keeping him alive. Joker releases Joker Venom to kill the delegates. Superman super breathes to inhale all the gas, which he's immune to because he's Superman and then says this as he leaves to go find a place to release the poison gas safely.

"Batman, he's all yours."

Superman basically says "You can kill him now" because he knows Batman’s mind has not changed, and Superman had not once tried to say "killing Joker would be wrong" just that it couldn't happen before the Joker acted in a way that lost him his immunity.

And Bruce does go to do just that. He chases the Joker down, intent to kill, and jumps onto the helicopter the Joker is using to escape. One of the guys fires at Batman. It shoots the pilot, hits the Joker in damn near his heart, if not his heart, and Batman realizes the helicopter is going down and decides to jump and leave the Joker behind. He intends for the Joker to die in the crash.

Okay? Bruce was 100% going to kill the Joker for killing Jason. Superman said "hang on. Let him get enough rope to hang himself first and then you can do it." And then Joker only survived because comic books. And Bruce is unhappy about having to wait. Superman did not try to talk Bruce out of killing the Joker at all ever, or scold him for wanting to kill the Joker. (Don't say he was rescuing the Joker in that last panel. The next panel is Superman fishing Batman, who is shot in the arm, from the harbor, and Batman telling Superman to go find the body. Find the body! And Superman does go to do just that, but is unable to).

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[gguk-n]

Chapter 1- Anonymous Conversations

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen x Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Y/N formed an unexpected bond with a boy behind the screen. He doesn't have many interest it seems, except for reading her stupid poems.

{Reader's POV}

12/07/2012

Dear Diary, Stella is leaving for Canada tomorrow forever. Today was the last day of school before the summer break so I went to Stella's house after school. It's so shitty, how can she leave me like this and before the start of high school. I don't have any friends other than her, what am I supposed to do??? This isn't fair, first Faye moved back to her home country a couple years back and now Stella. It's like they don't even care about me. I made a google plus account so we can stay in touch. Actually everyone's on google plus, I'm just late to the party. I'm sure we'll still be close.

02/01/2013

OMG!! I think I'm in love. There's this new boy band, One Direction. Ava told me about them last year but I brushed her off saying they weren't my cup of tea, but OMG!!! They are fucking perfect and I love Niall so much. He's so cute and has the dreamiest eyes and his accent, I'm gonna faint. I bought the Take Me Home album yesterday!! I even put up their poster above my bed, hehe!! Sooooo, I may or may not be writing now. I think I'm gonna be an author. The stuff isn't great like Shakespeare but I'm sure I'll improve. I've written a couple poems and Aria read them and she thinks they are great. I'm gonna start uploading them on google plus. I made a separate page for it, under a pseudonym. If I really improve, maybe I can publish my work.

I was sat at my laptop, typing the latest story I came up with during lunch so I could upload it. There were a lot of people who were reading my work and even encouraged me. There is improvement, but then again, we can do better, I'm sure. My parents aren't very happy with how I'm wasting my time writing instead of focusing on my education since I'm in high school now. I finished typing the story and clicked the upload button, I got a comment on the post. It was from this guy, named Max, just Max. He always read all of my work and writes the nicest comments under them. I haven't spoken to him personally ever since my mother kept warning me about stranger danger and that it could be some 50 year old dude. But his comments are encouraging and make me want to write more. I hope he knows the kind of effect he's having on me.

My birthday is in a couple of days, I don't know what I'll do since I don't really have a lot of friends. Even Aria is away during that time, so I don't really have anyone to go out with. My parents are busy as always.

So, out of desperation or sadness, I don't know which one, I posted on google plus saying that it was my birthday. The first person who replied was Max as always. I really wanna know when this guy sleeps or how he gets any work done if he is online so much. He messaged me personally too, to wish me again and even asked what I did. I couldn't lie because my heart was heavy, so I told him. I literally just unloaded about not having any friends and spending the day alone because work was more important for my parents. He was so nice about it. He spent the next hour talking to me and cheering me up. He's apparently 15, from Netherlands. He loves cats and lives with his dad and sister. He sounds like a fun guy.

After that, both of us ended up chatting on google plus regularly. I would message him immediately after school and spend the next couple of hours talking to him. Some times, he'd be gone a couple weekends but it was no biggy. I'm sure he had other commitments instead of entertaining a dumb teenager.

Max's birthday is on 30 September. I wanted to be the first one, so I stayed up late to match the dutch timings and wished him. He replied a little while later. He wasn't very excited about it. I get it, maybe his friends aren't there or couldn't make it to his birthday. I was gonna cheer him like he cheered me up. I wish I could send him a present. He really was a light in dark time. When I had no friends in school I could rely on, he came like the knight in shining armour. I just want to be a good and reliable friend to him like he is to me. He is such a sweetheart. We've never spoken on call yet. I guess I'm still a little scared and we've only known each other for a few months. I'm gonna hold on that but Max is a genuinely nice person in my eyes. But his dad doesn't sound like the nicest person from what he says, but I can't tell him that his dad is shitty so I just read his texts.

18/12/2013

Dear Diary, Maxie is the cutest. I haven't seen or heard him yet but I feel like he is. Otherwise, why would he encourage me to follow my dreams? He was so understanding and gave great advice. You might wonder why I needed the advice, diary. I told my parents I wanna pursue a degree in literature and we had a huge fight since apparently I'm throwing my life away and I should try to get a proper degree that might get me a job. Apparently, I'm not thinking straight. I've been thinking about becoming an author for some time now, it's my one passion, I've realised. And if it means struggling, I would rather struggle and be happy than be in a dead end job. Just because they are some big shot business people doesn't mean I wanna do that do. ugh!!! I hate them. Maxie calmed me down honestly, he heard me out and told me it was okay to follow my dreams. I think he is such a good friend. I won't tell him that, he has a big ego as is. LOL!!

I've been gaining a lot of traction on my posts on google plus. I have a couple thousand followers but Max is the most active of them all. Max is so effortlessly funny. He did ask one time if we could talk on call, I told him that my microphone was broken. I'm still a little skeptical. I know, even though I'm literally sharing everything with him, I've never spoken on call or video with him. Maybe some day.

04/03/2014

Dear Diary, I got a new phone and a new number. The previous one was one of my parents multiple numbers but this one is my own. I feel like an adult, hehe!! I made a whatsapp, maybe I'll share my number with Maxie and we might start chatting on there. Google plus had become a bit of hassle and I'm not uploading on it like I used to. I usually only open it to talk to Max. I think it would be better to shift it to another service. He's been a little busy this year compared to the last, didn't tell me much but I think it has to do with him being in his final year of high school. Can't relate, but I hope I'm done with high school soon. It fucking sucks. But on the bright side, I've gotten close to Nia and Aria and I could call Aria my best friend but she considers Nia her best friend. I don't mind being her friend. I have Max anyways.

Max has been quite busy lately, but I don't blame him. I would be busy in my final year of high school too. Even with all that, he has taken time out to talk to me. I did share my number with him, so now instead of google plus, which is a barren wasteland, we text on whatsapp. I've suggested talking on call some time when he's free, which hasn't happened yet.

We had set up a time to talk, it was really early here but I didn't mind, I was up anyways. I couldn't wait to hear his voice. I was anxious as well, what if he's some pedophile; all these thoughts raced through my head when my phone rang. Max- Hi, Y/N! Y/N- Hey, Max!! How are you? Max- I'm good, what about you? Y/N- Yeah, I'm good too. haha!! This is so weird talking to you. Max- yeah, you sound pretty. Fuck was he flirting, is this flirting? A million thoughts ran through my head, no one's ever flirted with me before. I felt my cheeks heat up. Y/N- You sound nice too. I mean....you have a nice voice. Max- haha, thanks, this is the first time some one has said that. Y/N- soooo, what have you been up too?? You've been so busy lately. There was a pause on the other end. I heard shuffling. Max- yeah, I've been busy with stuff. I'll be done soon for a while now. Y/N- That's great I need my best friend back! The conversation flowed smoothly. It didn't feel like we were talking on call for the first time. I had a lot of fun talking to Max. He sounds like a teenager, much to my relief. He's just as funny on call as he is on text.

After that, we ended up calling each other regularly. Max would answer my calls whenever but sometimes I felt bad about calling him at the crack ass of dawn in Netherland so I would avoid calling him whenever. He is so kind and listens well but damn does he talk. Every one who knows me calls me talkative, if they heard Max their ears would bleed. But I like hearing him talk, he has the most random and vast knowledge, he's helped me write too many of my papers because I didn't have to research, I could just ask him; he's like a walking encyclopedia.

17/05/2015

Dear Diary, I think I'm in love. It's not some celebrity this time but I think it's Max. I don't even know that dude's last name but I'm in love. He not like the guys in school, he's so mature and funny and sweet and understanding and he supports me so much. I didn't know when or how but I think I love him. Obviously I won't tell him. It's prolly a crush since I have't dated anyone ever. I'll get over it, can't ruin my friendship over this. As is, he has gotten so busy. I think he is going to college. He didn't say it explicitly but why else would he be so busy right now if not applying for colleges. I don't know the dutch education system but I'm sure he busy pursuing higher education. He said he liked cars, I think he'll do something with cars. I didn't really ask in more details. I'm sure he'll tell me when he wants to. We have a chill friendship, we share when and what we want to. Alas, I hope this crush doesn't ruin my friendship.

09/08/2015

This is bad, my crush on Max has only gone on to increase. He's so kind to me, what am I supposed to do? Also he's the only one who can calm me down after a fight with my parents regarding my future. Sadly, he gotten so busy. He's gone for a while every few weeks. But lately he's been free. We've been talking a lot. He sounds a lot more rested lately too. I'm sure college is tough. But he's strong and I know he'll do it.

[Little did Y/N know, Max was busy racing across the world in Redbull's junior team. He was in his first year as a formula one driver, hence he was so busy. Max had no intentions of telling her, he liked being just Max, a guy from Netherlands who could talk to her. He enjoyed the disconnect he got with her]

[hellincarnation]

Hello! This is a message to the anon who has been sending very haphazard, messy and increasingly nonsensical hate. They are pretty ew.

Not sure if cringe anon is the same as this one, but if you are, here’s a quick thingy. Sure, I’ve played with your message, adding humour as a lovely way of mockery to you. But there is a line to be drawn, I’m fine with you making snarky comments. I make snarky comments, but I draw the line when you start insulting whole groups of race. And….insulting us with the most generic types of comments.

Seriously?

That is the most ridiculous pseudo hate ever.

I’ll remind you that the term “asians” include Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Thai, Viet, Malaysian, Singaporean, Filipino, Indonesian, Saudi Arabian, Indian, Bhutanese, Pakistani, Lebanese and so many more groups of people.

You’re gonna have to be the most dumb, blind and ignorant piece of filth if you think all of those groups of people look the same. If you really believe that, you’re bigoted and ill informed.

Also. OF COURSE SOME GROUPS OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE A COMMON ANCESTOR LOOK THE SAME, OH MY GOD THE STUPIDITY!

And if you are part of Asia and you’re gonna whine like “I was just making a joke!” This is not a joke if it hurts people, yes this is a popularised statement but to many people, it is not funny. It is only a joke when EVERYONE is laughing. So shut up about that.

And then here

….that’s just so wrong.

First of all, I’m ethnically Chinese, which means my great grandparents originally came from china. I was not born on the mainland, nor was my parents, nor was my grandparents. And where I am currently living, consumption of dog meat is illegal. Even in China, the amount of dog meat consumption is drastically decreasing.

That is an old, outdated, stereotypical, insulting way to refer to Chinese people. Not only that!

You also might refer to people from Cambodia, India, Indonesia, Ghana, Laos, Vietnam, Nigeria and Switzerland. Unless you’re saying I’m from all of those countries, your statements makes no fucking sense.

I’ll wrap it up, in the end, I may laugh, joke around, make fun of such comments, but I draw the line when it could potentially hurt bigger groups of people.

My blog is a place to talk to my friends, I’ve made many good ones here, Mireya, Zahrawr, Tanaka, Jeah, Riyana, God, Tamanna, Etc

To all of you, I’m very grateful for getting to meet you.

To this Anonymous person: if you come out and say “oh it’s just a joke” or reveal that you are Asian too, shame on you. Out of all people, you should know how bigoted and disgusting those statements are. If you aren’t asian, even worse. You’re a stupid, ignorant and pathetic piece of shit who thinks it’s okay to send these types of messages. You disgust me.

Moving on, I will not tolerate any more of these types of posts, I will be deleting them on sight. I won’t be turning off anon, since there are lovely anons who like to send nice messages. But I will not be posting anymore of these stupid, idiotic and hateful comments, especially that could potentially hurt a large number of people.

Fuck off, leave all these people alone, leave me alone, this is not a joke, it’s not okay to be spout this bullshit so freely.

Update: I’ve blocked anon ;)))

If this turns out to be anyone I’ve tagged, I will be very very disappointed in you.

@jeahreading @tamanna-and-her-struggles @shinchansbitch @im-on-crack-send-help @iamgayforyourmom1510 @mentallyunstablequeen101 @momhwa117 @zeherili-ankhein @your-dazzling-sun @schrodinger-ka-billa @abyssmita @cafffeineconnoisseur @byproduct-of-hades @lotuseaterwhowistlesthedark @mireyaaaaaaaaa @circe-butbetter @mi-stress-of-chaos @lyrebirb @depressed-bi-twerking @hershey-not-the-chocolate-maybe @lesbianpoetess @unhinged-as-hell @debacleofdaemons @sunshinerainbowsandlollipops @celesteablack @evry1h8s-me @transienctly-translucent @priimadonnna

[nightlyrequiem]

It’s my first time sending ideas so sorry if I’m not clear enough 😔.

I have a vague idea of Valeria x fem! Reader being on an arranged marriage, readers family owed big money to el sin nombre therefore your fam didn’t had enough to pay desperate for forgiveness Valeria offers taking you instead and leaving your loved ones alone. You were feisty at first not fond of the idea until you knew you were trapped without a way out, accepted your destiny, it wasn’t that bad at the end you had a luxury and power. U can add smut if your write too 🤭..

-🦋🦂

Hi! This is such a fun idea. I've always wanted to try my hand at writing the arranged marriage trope. If it were me being married off to Valeria, I'd fold so fast, can't even lie. That woman has me in a chokehold. Also, so sorry this took me a bit, life finds a way of getting in the way 😔

This is also longer than the one-shots I typically write. About 3019 words :3

Tags/Warnings: Arranged Marriage, kidnapping, WLW, Smut ✂️

In Sickness and in Health

Your relationship with your parents has never been great. Not bad, but not what it should or could be. They never treated you horribly, didn't scream at you or beat you as a child. They just kind of left you alone. They cared, in some way. But deep down you know you'll never come first to them. You've never come first for anyone. Which is why you're feeling a little confused when one day, your parents start really paying attention. Feeding you healthy meals, Booking doctor's appointments. Inquiring about where you've been. You're a little old for them to be trying to parent you. You've been saving up money to move out of town, your brain is only a few years short of full development.

You like the attention though. It feels good to be noticed and worried after. To look into your mother's eyes and see interest instead of boredom is something you could get used to. One Saturday night your parents sat you down in the living room and told you to pack everything you'd need for a long vacation. Your father had been saving up money so you could travel Europe together. Your mother didn't seem as excited as you expected her to be but who are you to deny yourself the chance to experience Europe? So many countries you could visit. Austria, Romania, Czechia? With your parents no less. Maybe things will be different. You can still have a good relationship with them.

You're confused when you get home from work one night a few weeks later to see a woman and three suspiciously dressed men. The balaclavas unnerve you, but your parents are sitting in the living room with them calmly. There is of course a hint of unease identifiable in their body language but there's no sense of urgency. Everyone's head turns to look at you, much to your discomfort. You're still wearing the skimpy waitress uniform from the club you work at. Your steps slow to an insecure stop. The woman drags her gaze over your body.

"Am I interrupting something?" You ask awkwardly. You don't like the look of these people.

"No, Honey." Your mother murmurs. Giving you a strained smile. "Come in and have a seat, we have some... some things to discuss."

You can tell by the tone of her voice that whatever it is, isn't good. Reluctantly you walk into the living room. Sitting down next to your mother. She puts a heavy hand on your shoulder but doesn't look at you.

"This is Valeria." She says quietly. "Valeria, this is my daughter." She says your name. You glance at your dad, confused by the situation. He also refuses to meet your gaze. staring ahead stoically. Valeria smiles and offers her hand.

"It's nice to finally meet you." Her tone is light and friendly. You still don't trust her.

"Sure." You nod. Taking her hand and shaking it. It's softer than you were expecting. Your mother gives your shoulder a squeeze.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Valeria asks. You feel a hint of dread. 

"No."

Valeria turns to your mother. "Why don't you tell her?" She says.

You also turn to look at your mother. Your brows furrowing. Your mother sighs and rubs her hands like they're cold.

"Your father and I..." She trails off. "We made a mistake." You stay quiet, letting her continue. "And we owe some money to some..." She casts a furtive look at Valeria. "Some dangerous people."

You frown. You don't have to ask to know it's the cartel. Although, they seem to be pretty civil. The situation isn't so dire. Not yet anyway. "Is that how you're able to afford this sudden vacation?" You ask. "You borrowed money?"

"There isn't a vacation." Your father pipes up. You turn your head to look at him, confused.

"You cancelled it?" You ask him, feeling disappointed. Unless the money hasn't already been spent you don't know why you can't go anyway.

"No, there wasn't one to begin with." He clarifies.

"You had me pack for one." You reply sharply. Time and time again they'll never fail to disappoint you.

Valeria leans back.

"A vacation?" She murmurs, raising a groomed brow. "It's one thing to not tell your daughter, but to get her to pack her things under false pretenses? You're colder than I thought." She sounds amused, which only adds to the growing pit of dread in your stomach.

"What are you talking about?" You snap. Addressing everyone. "Why did I pack? What's going on?" Neither of your parents will look at you but your dad answers your question.

"You'll be leaving with Valeria."

His quiet words stun you. A warm, soft hand grabs yours and you look at it's owner. Valeria has her eyes narrowed at you. "I'll take good care of you." She promises.

You rip your hand from hers like you were burned.

"What do you mean?" You grit out. You're confused and everyone's answers are only giving you more questions.

"Valeria has agreed to forgive our debt in exchange for you." Your mother whispers.

"I am not a bartering piece. What the hell is wrong with you?" You hiss at her. Hurt and afraid. You don't want to go with this woman. Your mother looks up at you with sorrowful eyes.

"They would've killed us." She says. "You understand it's between life and death, right? Please, just do this for us." Just do this for us. What have they ever done for you? Why are you paying for their irresponsible actions?

"No." You snap. "You don't get to ignore me for my entire life and then demand that I sacrifice myself for you." 

"You don't have much of a choice." Valeria says casually. She crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a cold look. "I'm taking you regardless of what you want."

You level her with a stubborn glare.

"You'll have to drag me out kicking and screaming." You mutter. Already you hate this smug woman. 

Valeria simply shrugs. "That can be arranged." Suddenly one of the big, masked men descends upon you. Roughly hauling you to your feet. You gasp and struggle. Kicking and squirming. You're much weaker than you thought. "Bring her to the car." 

"Put me down!" You cry out. You make it as hard as you can. Dragging your feet and thrashing. You try to wrap your ankles around a chair leg, but he just gives you a sharp yank, dislodging you.

You're rudely shoved into the back of a nondescript black car. You swiftly pull back your fingers back as he slams the door, narrowly avoiding having them crushed. You stare at your dark reflection in the tinted window, you're in shock. In the span of ten minutes your life has changed. You try to open the door but to no one's surprise it's locked. You look towards the front. There's a man in the driver's seat scrolling on his phone. You know better than to ask him for help.

You look around. This isn't happening. You scoot to the other door but just before you touch the handle it swings open. You startle and back up against the other side. Valeria gets in beside you. Calm and pleased, like the cat who caught the canary.

"Your bags are in the other car." She says to you. "If there's anything you're missing just let me know."

"My freedom and rights." You growl. Valeria gives you a small smile.

"Cute. That attitude will get old fast though." She remarks. She buckles herself in and tells the driver to go.

The silence is heavy and foreboding. You can't stand it, and you can't stand not knowing why she's doing this to you.

"Why did you take me?" You ask.

"Because I wanted you." She says simply. Wanted you. Like you were a nice coat or necklace she saw in a shop window.

"What are you going to do to me?" You question. All kinds of grim possibilities flash through your mind.

"You're very inquisitive." Valeria mutters. Turning to look out her window.

"Answer me." You demand. Valeria sighs.

"We are going to get married. Your parents owe me money, but I've been watching you and I've decided that you'd make a fair exchange."

Her words give you pause. "Marriage? You've been stalking me?" You don't know which one you want to be more upset over.

"No, watching." She corrects. "I frequent the club you work at for business, and I see you all the time."

"So that means you have to force me into a marriage with you? What's the point?" You snap at her.

Valeria scoffs at you. "Having a pretty woman waiting at home for you is a big morale booster."

You scowl at her.

"I'm not marrying you. You can't do this." You say angrily. "This is kidnapping, it's not legal." The town passes by through the windows. Buildings become less and less frequent.

"No?" Valeria replies irately. "Really? Kidnapping is illegal?" She sounds annoyed. As if your distress is inconveniencing her.

"You can't do this to me!" You raise your voice. Valeria's hand shoots out quick as a snake strike to grab your face roughly. Squishing your cheeks painfully.

"I can do whatever the hell I want, and I'm going to let you know right here right now that I will not tolerate your whining." She says with a dangerously quiet voice. 

The rest of the drive passes by in a blur. The car finally stops outside of a nice-looking house, and you're ushered out by Valeria. She drapes an arm over your shoulder. You shrug it off, but she just puts it back on you. Pulling you close with more force than she needs to. A warning. She leads you to the large front doors. Staying on the stone pathway bisecting the yard. Wild plants and cacti sprout up from the dry ground. You don't get much time to observe the scenery as you're dragged inside.

Even the way the lights illuminate the foyer are wealthy. The floors are polished and clean. The door rug is also somehow clean. Even the side tables are matching. Not at all like the mismatched furniture at your house. The men drop off your bags and leave. Closing the door behind them. Valeria lets you take it all in for a few seconds before speaking.

"Do you want something to eat, or do you want to take a shower first?" Valeria asks you, taking off her shoes and neatly arranging them off to the side.

"I want to go home." You reply.

"You are home, pasta or stir-fry?" 

You scowl at her. "I'm not touching anything you make."

"Then you can go hungry." She shrugs. "The bedroom is upstairs, feel free to use anything in the bathroom.

You started eating after a few days. It felt like a betrayal to yourself, but you were growing weak. You refused to sleep in the bed. Instead bunkering down in the living room. Getting your sleep on the couch. Every day Valeria tried to interact with you and build some kind of a bond and every day you met her efforts with hostility. Everything was much less... eventful than you thought it was going to be. Even the wedding, which wasn't really a wedding. She just took you down to the courthouse where you signed the papers. No dress, no celebration, nothing.

Valeria was also so much more respectful than you thought she was going to be. She uttered a few threats here and there, but nothing came of it. She didn't beat you or force you into bed. You had free reign of the house and occasionally she'd give you things. You pretended you didn't care. That you didn't want anything she got you, but when she was gone you found yourself trying on the clothes and jewelry she bought you. Admiring the way they looked on you. Valeria... wasn't as bad as you thought.

You spent the day on the couch. Stuffing your face and rotting your brain with reality TV. Valeria made you quit your job. You were pissed about it. In no way did you want to be financially dependent on her, but you didn't have a choice. The argument that followed was loud and a little violent. You screamed at each other and threw things. Now that you've taken the time to rest and relax, you think you were a little too harsh. You check the time, noting that it's going to be another few hours before she returns. The dust has settled into an uneasy peace between the two of you. You get up and walk into the clean kitchen. You'll make her an apology dinner. You still don't appreciate her kidnapping you and forcing you into a marriage but it's not that bad. You don't have to work, don't have to worry about money, really what else could you want?

Valeria returns home just as you finish cooking. You nervously watch her walk into the kitchen and lean against the door frame with her arms crossed.

"Smells good." She compliments. You carefully divide the portions up between the two of you.

"Yeah, thought I'd make supper this time." You reply. Placing the plates at opposite ends of the table. You take your seat and look at her. Valeria regards you with caution.

"It's not poisoned, is it?" She asks. You're a little offended but you can't blame her for being wary. Not with how hostile you've been.

"No." You say. "... I wanted to apologize for how I've been acting." Even though your feelings are more than reasonable. Valeria slowly nods and rounds the table, sitting down. 

You begin to hungrily eat but Valeria picks at her food. Clearly not reassured that you didn't do something. Your first instinct is to lash out and get angry but that will get you nowhere. 

"Pass me your bowl." You say. 

"Why?" Valeria asks, furrowing her brows.

"Just do it." You sigh. Valeria slides her bowl over to you from across the table. You make pointed eye-contact as you lift her spoon to your mouth, eating from it. You slide it back. Hoping she decides to eat now.

You finish before she does, just watching her as she eats.

"This is really good." Valeria murmurs between mouthfuls. 

"Thank you." You say, relaxing. "I was just making stuff up as I go." 

Valeria finishes and gets up, taking both bowls to the sink. "You should cook more often." She hesitates by the sink. Watching you. You've been pretty lonely lately, has Valeria always looked that good? Her hair is a little messy and her dark brown eyes are half-lidded. Your eyes rove over her tan, toned forearms and the tattoos that decorate them. You stand and join her by the sink with the excuse of washing the bowls. She doesn't move and your arms brush. Your skin tingles at the contact. You can feel her staring holes into the side of your head.

Valeria clears her throat.

"I got you something." She says, reaching into her back pocket. "Hold out your hand." She gently drops a necklace into your waiting palm. The delicate chain feels cold. You pick it up and look at it. "I found it on the ground, it reminds me of you." 

You frown and look up at her. "Should I be offended?"

Valeria smiles with amusement. "No, it was glinting in the sunlight."

"And that made you think of me?" You murmur dryly. She leans in a little closer.

"Yeah, it was just another thing on the ground, but it shined and caught my attention."

"That's really stupid." You say. Closing your hand around it. You two stare at each other.

Your back hits the wall with a dull thud as Valeria's lips press against yours. You don't remember taking it off, but your shirt is on the floor, the soft fabric protecting your bare feet from the cold. Valeria's hands fumble with her own shirt before you're both left in your bras. Her hand runs down your waist. Savoring the feel of your skin. You grab her shoulders and back her up into the hallway leading into the living room. Her legs hit the edge of the couch. She drags you down, maneuvering herself on top of you. She breaks the kiss to hurriedly slide your pants off of you, wasting no time in palming the heat between your thighs.

Her own pants don't stay on for much longer. Joining yours in a small, crumpled heap beside the couch, your underwear not far to follow. She presses her dripping cunt against yours, making you see stars with how hard she's grinding down. The room is filled with a cacophony of moans and grunts.

"I knew you'd come around." Valeria pants. "You're so good for me, making me dinner, I wish I could get you pregnant."

You feel yourself throb at the comment. "Fuck." You whine. Valeria's tits demand your attention. Bouncing in your face with each movement. Your hands smooth over her bare back, dragging over her shoulder blades and onto her chest. Valeria grunts as you give them a gentle squeeze, watching the full flesh spill through your fingers.

You shift your legs so you can wrap them around her hips. In turn, Valeria leans down to bury her face into the crook of your neck, biting and kissing you. Your hips buck up to meet hers, your clits dragging against each other. Your orgasm slams into you and you go rigid. A high gasp leaving your parted lips. Valeria isn't too far behind you. Her rhythm breaks but she doesn't still with her climax. She grinds into you, keeping the pleasure up for as long as possible.

She finally slows to a stop and lays her entire weight on you, Sweaty and breathing heavily. 

"Good girl." She whispers. Kissing your neck. One of her hands settles on the side of your face. "Does this mean you're starting to like me?"

You consider her words. This was really just a way to release pent up energy. But, she sounds almost vulnerable and if you're being honest with yourself there's something more than lust making sparks in your stomach. "...I could." You reply softly. "Like you. I think I could do that." Valeria lifts her head and plants a soft kiss onto your lips. Her silent way of acknowledging your words. Maybe this marriage will be a good thing.

[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

[mammillariatasay]

I want to say so much after what happened with ticklethentopple

And I'll say everything I want

I couldn't even imagine how many people are already pissed off by him

It's not that I'm very confrontational, but when they climb into my comfort zone and unreasonably call me a pervert, I'm sorry, dude, but I'm going to fuck you in the mouth

I’ll answer to every fucking detail of your shitty rant

And so..

I've liked tickling since I was 6

Because of one little-known fairy tale that I really loved as a child (I'll show it later)

And I'm very tense about the thought that in the understanding of some, apparently, a love for tickling among children a priori means a future sexual fetish

My attitude to tickling has always been EXCLUSIVELY SFW (I checked this) for me it is a manifestation of love between parents and children/friends/lovers, etc.

Like hugs

I've even said many times that I hate tying up/torture/tears and snot, which is also equated to SFW tickling for some fucking reason

And when some idiot declares in every post that this is a KINK, does he really think we wouldn’t get fucking pissed?

I won't focus on his bullshit about blushing, it's complete nonsense

By the way, my OCs are minors

They are 14-17 years old

And I have NEVER SEXUALIZED THEM until they turn 18 according to the lore!!!

I came up with them when I was 16

They are a reflection of me

My teenage years, high school, first love, first friends

And I'm still a fucking child myself, even though I'm already 22

Why am I not against minors following me? Because I sincerely do not carry any NSFW messages in my blog

And I am not responsible for all my followers, they are not idiots, they understand what I draw and what is written in my blog

Specifically, I do not communicate with minors, but I do not mind if they like and repost my posts because it will not harm them in any way

I literally do not draw anything that contains any violence, etc.

If some minor writes me something inappropriate for his age, I will block him

If you draw tied up people chained to some kind of torture devices, whose eyes are already rolling back and whose faces are redder than a tomato, YOU should not interact with minors and leave us fucking alone

You need to understand the difference between adequate freedom on the Internet and grooming

If you know that some user is talking to children about something obscene, instead of shitting out some kind of paste that we are all sick creatures, throw complaints on THEIR account

Contact the tumblr administration

Notify the police if you know that they live in the same country/city as you

What people like ticklethentopple do is not a fight to protect children, but throwing shit at neighbors

Why do we hide our hobbies from our family/irl friends/BOSSES??

Maybe because we are oppressed even within the community? Maybe because we think that this is something personal? Maybe because we think that our #tkl_art is just... Cringe for ordinary people? Personally, I have always been afraid of being ridiculed and not being known as a pervert

Я так много хочу сказать после того что случилось с ticklethentopple

И я скажу всё что хочу

Я и представить не могла как много людей он уже заебал

Не то чтоб я сильно конфликтная но когда лезут в мою зону комфорта и безосновательно называют меня извращенкой извини чувак но я щас выебу тебя в рот

Я распишу нахуй поминутно блять где кто соснул хуйца блять

И так..

Мне нравится щекотка с 6 ЛЕТ

Из-за одной малоизвестной сказки которую я очень любила в детстве (позже я вам ее покажу)

И меня очень напрягает мысль что в понимании некоторых видимо любовь к щекотке среди детей априори означает будущий сексуальный фетиш

Мое отношение к щекотке всегда было ИСКЛЮЧИТЕЛЬНО SFW (я проверяла это) для меня это проявление любви между родителями и детьми/друзьями/влюблёнными и ТД

Как объятия

Я даже неоднократно говорила что ненавижу связывания/пытки/слезы и сопли что тоже приравнивают к SFW какого то хуя

И когда какой-то хер с горы заявляет в каждом своем посте что это КИНК он думает у нас жопа не сгорит?

Я не буду заострять внимание на его высере про румянец это полный абсурд

Да кстати мои персонажи несовершеннолетние

Им 14-17 лет

И я никогда НИКОГДА НЕ СЕКСУАЛИЗИРОВАЛА ИХ пока им по лору не исполняется 18!!!

Я придумала их когда мне было 16

Они отражение меня

Мой подростковый возраст старшая школа первая любовь первые друзья 

И я блять сама все ещё ребенок хоть мне уже 22

Почему я не против того что несовершеннолетние подписаны на меня? Потому что я искренне не несу в своем блоге никаких NSFW посылов 

И я не несу ответственность за все своих фолловеров они не идиоты они понимают что я рисую и что написано в моем блоге

Конкретно я не общаюсь с несовершеннолетними но я не против если она лайкают и репостят мои посты потому что им это никак не навредит

Я буквально не рисую ничего что содержит в себе какое-то насилие и тд

Если какой-то минор напишет мне что-то неадекватное для его возраста я его заблокирую

Если вы рисуете связанных людей прикованных к каким то пыточным устройствам у которых уже глаза закатываются а лицо краснее помидора это ВАМ не стоит взаимодействовать с минорами а нас блять оставьте в покое

Надо понимать разницу между адекватной свободой в интернете и растлением м��лолетних

Если вы знаете что какой-то пользователь говорит с детьми о чем то непристойном вместо того чтоб высирать пасту какие мы все больные твари накидайте жалоб на ЕГО аккаунт

Напишите администрации тамблера

Напишите заяву в полицию если знаете что он живёт с вами в одной стране/городе

То что делают такие как ticklethentopple не борьба за защиту детей а кидание говна в соседей 

Почему мы скрываем наше увлечение от семьи/ирл друзей/НАЧАЛЬНИКОВ??

Может потому что нас даже внутри комьюнити притесняют? Может потому что мы считаем что это что-то личное? Может потому что мы считаем что наши #tkl_art это просто... Кринж для обычных людей? Я лично всегда боялась быть высмеянной а не прослыть извращенкой

[ladykailitha]

Not All That Glitters is Gold Part 11

The second one for today. Steve and Eddie have an actual conversation about their wants and needs from the relationship.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @redfreckledwolf @emly03 @itsall-taken

****

Eddie laughed when Steve explained the reason for the flowers that night over drinks. “Do you really think your parents will leave you alone now?”

Steve shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But they’ll fuck off for awhile at least. And honestly you can’t buy that kind of peace.”

He smiled. “Damn straight. My own dear ole dad came out of the woodwork when Corroded Coffin hit it big. Tried to take credit for teaching me to play guitar.”

Steve leaned forward, chin on his fist. “I’m guessing that’s nowhere near what actually happened?”

“Oh hell no,” Eddie scoffed. “He taught me how to hotwire cars, blend into crowds to get away from cops, and how to lie through your teeth so convincingly that no one could tell. But you want to know who did teach me how to play? My Uncle Wayne. The man who took me in when the cops finally caught up with the rat bastard.”

Steve sighed wistfully. “God, what I would have given to have an Uncle Wayne. But sadly, when the test came back as infertile all they could think about was how to ‘recoup the loss of having an omega for a son’.”

Eddie’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I wish I was,” Steve said mournfully, shaking his head. “Most of the men on my dad’s side of the family were alphas and if they weren’t then they were omegas pumping out babies like a machine.”

Eddie winced and took Steve’s free hand in his. “I’m sorry, baby. That’s got have been so hard.”

Steve squeezed Eddie’s hand with a sigh. “The disappointment was so palpable in that doctor’s office you could cut it with a knife.” He shook his head. “They even refused further testing, even though my great-great grandmother on my mother’s side was a golden omega.”

“Really?” Eddie said, his eyebrows shooting up. “Damn. Those are super rare.”

Steve nodded. “I have two friends with red hair and that’s more common than a golden omega.”

“But if they were so desperate for money why didn’t they test for it?” he asked gently.

Steve shrugged. “My dad is a skinflint. The cost of the test outweighed the gamble on my chance of being ultra-fertile instead.”

“Damn just think you could have had your choice of any alpha in the country,” Eddie teased, “if they had and you turned out to be one.”

Steve shook his head, wrapping Eddie’s hand in both of his. “Nah, I prefer it this way, I have a job I love, a best friend I couldn’t live without and you. If I had been a golden omega, my parents would have made me chose from the crustiest, conservative assholes they could find.”

Eddied ducked his head and blushed to the roots of his hair. “So I’m assuming the label sent you a copy of the interview today?” he asked shyly.

Steve nodded. “Of course. You were so cute.”

“So call me stupid,” he said clearing his throat, “but I didn’t know escorts were allowed partners. I looked it up, a couple even have bonds. Like how the fuck does that work?”

Steve laughed bright and clear and Eddie went to remove his hand from his, but Steve held on tight.

“I wasn’t laughing at you, babe,” Steve soothed. “I was laughing because Robin thought that you weren’t aware and told me to clear it up with you. That was the main reason for drinks tonight.”

Eddie blinked at him owlishly. “Wait, really?”

“Of course,” Steve said. “But to answer your question about how omegas with bondmates can still be escorts, you forget that a lot of what we do isn’t about sex. Everyone associates escorts with sex, but that’s just a common misconception. Sometimes people just want the attention of a kind omega with no strings attached.” He kissed Eddie’s knuckles gently. “And then there are the ones that want a ‘cheating’ scenario without the drama of actually cheating.”

Eddie frowned. “So how does that work?”

“They want to have sex with a bonded omega,” Steve explained. “But without having to worry that there would an actual alpha gunning for them.”

“And their alpha doesn’t care they’re having sex with other alphas?” Eddie asked, tilting his head to the side, his eyes gentle and curious, not judging.

Steve shook his head. “Nope. Things can change, of course. A famous Starcourt escort Mia Sanchez retired last year because her alpha asked her to. But they had been bonded for fifteen years before retirement.”

“Huh.”

That filled Eddie with a warmth he didn’t know he was missing until that moment. He licked his bottom lip slowly.

“And if I wanted to properly court you,” he asked easily, “what would you say to that?”

Steve grinned back at him. “I’d say yes.”

Eddie leapt from his seat and came around the table to kiss him firmly on the lips.

Steve laughed, breaking the kiss, but Eddie didn’t mind. He couldn’t be happier.

“So you don’t want me to chose between you and my job, then?” Steve asked, referring to their contract.

Eddie shook his head. “If there was a way that you could be happy with both, darlin’, that was choice I was always going to make.”

“What about the Grammy’s and your rut?” Steve asked, concerned. He felt bad, but he still wanted to get paid for those things. He didn’t want to suddenly have Eddie expect them for free now that they were courting.

“Don’t worry, Stevie,” Eddie murmured into his omega’s ear. “The contract will still be for those things, we just won’t have a fake break up of our fake relationship after my rut.”

Steve’s lip wobbled. “Would it be a real break up of a real relationship?” he asked softly.

Eddie pulled him in for a big hug. “Not for all the gold in all the world. Okay?”

He let out a shuddering breath. “I’m okay with that.”

Eddie kissed him again before going back to sit down in his chair. “So for the Grammy’s I looked over those two outfits you sent me for suggestion on what you should wear.”

Steve smiled, grateful for the change of topic to something safer and more comfortable for him. “Yeah, which one did you prefer? I mean, I have closet full of amazing clothes and if nothing suits your fancy...” he half shrugged, “it gives me chance to go shopping.”

Eddie laughed. “No, no. I loved them both. Though taking you shopping has it’s appeal...” He shook his head. “I’m getting off the track here. I want you to wear the mini to the awards and the pant suit to the Vanity Fair after party.”

Steve’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and he grinned. “That is a fantastic idea. I love it.”

“I thought you’d like that,” Eddie said with a grin. “Do you get to wear much stuff that’s just for you or do you have to be ‘Starcourt Escort’ twenty four seven?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s a bit half and half if I’m honest. I don’t have to be dressed to the nines all the time...”

“But if you don’t,” Eddie said with a growl, “all the tabloids say that you’re ‘letting yourself go’?”

Steve blushed and nodded.

“What would you want to wear if you weren’t ‘escort Steve’?” Eddie asked, motioning to the waiter that they needed another round.

“It’s stupid,” he said, tucking his chin tightly to his chest. “I’m a fashion plate. That’s what I’m supposed to be.”

Eddie clicked his tongue and wagged his finger. “None of that. I won’t let anyone talk shit about my boyfriend, not even himself.”

That surprised a laugh out of him. “I like the polos, Henley’s, and chinos look. Lame I know.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. That was not the answer he had expected at all. He thought it would have been sweat pants and baggy sweaters.

“It’s not lame if it makes you feel good about yourself,” he insisted.

Another couple of bottles of beer arrived and Steve grabbed one. He just held it in his hands. He let out a long sigh.

“You know how we can roleplay situations for clients?”

Eddie nodded. They had done the meet-cute in a bar roleplay just last night.

“There’s one you won’t find on my list,” he continued. “At least not anymore.”

Eddie could feel the tension build between them. Whatever this was about was fucking hard for Steve to talk about.

“Sometimes busy executives and business owners like to have a scenario where they come home to a cute little omega housewife. If it’s a female omega, think the 1950s type. Dresses and high heels.”

And suddenly what Steve was talking about hit Eddie like a fist to the solar plexus. Male omegas would be in the polos and chinos. But the roleplay had tainted Steve’s love for those kinds of clothes and it made Eddie furious.

“And if you’re seen out and about wearing them,” he guessed, “people think you’re doing the roleplay, don’t they?”

Steve flushed in shame. He nodded once.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Are you sure you like this job?”

Steve’s head snapped up. “Yes! The good far out weighs the bad. Like ruts without an omega can actually fuck up an alpha body. Like completely wreck it to hell. So I get to go in and help these alphas that don’t have an omega they can trust and help them through one of the worst weeks of their year and that it happens multiple times, anywhere from three to five depending on their age. Yes, I’m trained to be charming and great in bed, but that? That’s what makes everything worth while.”

He was panting at the end of his rant, eyes wild, hands clutching Eddie’s fiercely.

Eddie chuckled. “All right, darlin’. I didn’t mean to offend.”

Steve ducked his head and Eddie gently lifted it back up with two fingers. “I like that you’re passionate about what you love, honey. It makes you sparkle.”

Steve looked down at his watch and cursed. “I’ve got to go.” He looked back up at him. “But I’ll see you on Friday?”

Eddie grinned. “It’s a date, sweetheart.”

Steve hopped off his seat and walked away.

Eddie shook his head and murmured, “Hate to see you leave, but damn do I love to watch you go.”

Steve ass looked amazing in whatever the guy wore. But now Eddie understood his need for hyper-masculinity. Even when he was wearing that golden dress, it highlighted his flat chest and broad thighs.

People made assumptions about who Steve was based on what he was wearing at all times and if he was even the slightest bit not what people expected he got hell for it.

In a lot of ways, Steve’s every move was even more scrutinized than Eddie’s and he was the frontman of a very famous metal band. He couldn’t imagine living the way Steve did. But despite all the hang ups and downsides, Steve was happy and you really couldn’t buy that.

He paid the tab and walked out onto the pavement. He lit up a cigarette and took a long drag. He let out the smoke slowly and flicked away the ash.

Eddie was content with his lot in life for the first time since he moved in with his uncle, Wayne. Wayne was always supportive of whatever Eddie wanted to do in life and was happy to hear about Steve.

And even happier when Eddie had called him this afternoon to tell him Stevie might agree to date without all the hoopla of the agency. Everything Eddie did, Wayne was sure to hear about it first.

Wayne was home. No matter the distance. Something Eddie never thought he’d find out here in California.

Stevie was quickly becoming home for him. He never thought he would want to mate, not after seeing how horrible his parents acted. But now?

Now he couldn’t wait to start courting the most beautiful omega in the world.

Eddie took another drag of his cigarette and then flicked it away. He hailed a cab and gave directions for home.

He couldn’t wait to show Steve off on live television. And maybe just maybe win a Grammy or two.

****

Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @yikes-a-bee @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @scheodingers-muppet @y4r3luv @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @irregular-child @nburkhardt @apomaro-mellow @yellowdevilkitten @eyehartart @mangoinacan13 @demolvr @ellietheasexylibrarian @rememberthatiloveyou @slowandsteddie @r0binscript @alyelf @melodymeddler @mogami13 @annabanannabeth

[petalsprompts]

𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒; 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒓.

change pronouns, tenses and other details as deemed necessary. & please specify muse when sending to a mumu.

To   truly   love   another   person   is   to   accept   that   the   work   of   loving   them   is   worth   the   pain   of   losing   them.

And   in   time,   as   we   all   do,   she   admitted   all.   She   admitted   she   was   dead.

The  rooms  felt  larger  at  night,  as  though  the  house  itself  had  inhaled  deeply  as  the  sun  disappeared,  expanding  as  it  held  its  breath  for  the  morning.

It  was  an  emptiness  that  called  out  to  be  explored.

Though in truth,  her  first  look  at  [location]  yielded  no  discomfort,  no  foreboding.

People  are  superstitious,  especially  in  the  country.

So,  now  it's  a  story…  these  small  children  in  that  huge  house  with  their  dead  parents,  and  now,  their  dead  governess.

It's  okay!  You're  okay,  you're  okay!

I  cry  three,  maybe  four  times  a  day  around  here.  Five,  if  I'm  really  being  honest  with  myself.

I'm  going  to  start  counting,  and  it'll  be  your  turn  to  run  and  hide.  And  I'll  find  you.

She   would   sleep,   she   would   wake,   she   would   walk.

You   have   to   promise   me   that   you’ll   stay   in   your   room.   Don’t   leave   your   room   at   night.

It's   like   every   day   I   feel   myself   fading   away,   but   I'm   still   here.   I   don't   really   understand   how   that   is.

Nightly,   in   fact,   those   first   few   years,   a   dark   carriage   led   by   a   red-eyed   horse came to [location],  but he  was   denied   so   often,   in   fact,   that   Death   would   not   venture   there again.

You’re   slipping.   Stay   with   me.

She's   waiting.   And   at   some   point…   she's   gonna   take   me.

'Dead'   doesn't   mean   'gone'.

If   you   can't   feel   anything,   then   I'll   feel   everything   for   the   both   of   us.

People   do,   don't   they?   Mix   up   love   and   possession.   I   don't   think   that   should   be   possible.   They're   opposites   really:   love   and   ownership

You   know   what   life   is   really   all   about?   Keys.   See,   people   are   like   locked   rooms.   They’ve   all   got   different   locks   and   you’ve   got   to   guess   the   shape   of   their   key.

It's   scary,   I   know.   But   you   have   a   past,   and   you   have   a   future.   Now,   I'd   argue   you   can   count   on   both.

Any   of   us   could   die,   at   any   moment.   Or   we   could   forget   our   entire   lives,   which   is   like   dying.

This   memory   one   of   my   favorites.   I   don’t   find   myself   in   this   one   often.

One   day   at   a   time   what   we've   got.   It's   all   everybody's   got,   when   you   get   down   to   it.

He   has   spent   too   much   of   his   life   alone.

Where   would   we   be,   we   wretched   people   without   the   generosity   of   our   betters?   And   luck

Change   is   emergent…   by   the   time   one   realizes   it   has   arrived,   it   has   already   set   its   teeth.

From   here   on   in,   the   shadows   get   deeper,   the   nights   get   longer.

We're   heading   into   the   dark,   and   we   have   to   hang   onto   each   other.

You   said   it   was   a   ghost   story.   It   isn't.   It's   a   love   story.

Death   is   something   to   mourn,   not   fear. 

I   wouldn't   leave   without   you,   and   I-I   won't   leave   without   you   now.

All   things   fade.   All   things.   Flesh,   stone,   even   the   stars   themselves.   Time   takes   all   things.   It   is   the   way   of   the   world.

You're   right   there.   You're   right   there,   and   I   can't   even   touch   you!   I   can't   smell   you,   I   can't   feel   you.   It's   not   fair,   it's   not   fucking   fair!

There's   a   difference   between   feeling   good   and   feeling   alive.   The   two   aren't   always   the   same.

You   couldn't   see   me,   not   right   away.   I   had   to   figure   out   a   way   to   make   it   so…   so   that   you   could   see   me.

The   others,   they   say;   "stay   away   from   her."

The   beast   had   lurked   indeed,   and   the   beast,   at   its   hour,   had   sprung.

Everyone   is   exhaustive.   Even   the   best   ones.

The   living   must   decide   what   they   can   or   cannot   bear.

We   can’t   count   on   the   past.   We   think   we   have   it   trapped   in   our   memories,   but   memories   fade   and   they’re   wrong.

Toss   in   offerings   to   drive   away   evil   spirits,   bones   mostly;   build   a   pile   of   old   bones   and   burn   away   the   shadows..

The   world   is   fierce,   but   you   are   fiercer.   And   someday,   you   will   move   mountains.

I   wasn't   going   to   ask   you   if   you're   alright   because   I   don't   like   being   lied   to.   So,   what's   wrong?

It's   so   quiet,   it's   so   quiet,   but   she's   in   here.   And   this   part   of   her   that's   in   here,   it   isn't   peaceful.   It's…   rage.

Humans   are   organic.   We   are   meant   to   die.   It's   natural.   Beautiful.   And   it   all   breaks   down,   and   rises   back   up,   and   breaks   down   again.   And   every   living   thing   grows   out   of   every   dying   thing.

He   stayed   at   her   side   until   she   was   buried,   and   he   loved   her   the   whole   way.

I   have   this   feeling   like   I'm   walking   through   this   dense,   overgrown   jungle,  and   I   can't   really   see   anything   except   the   path   in   front   of   me.

But   I   know…   there's   this   thing   hidden   out   there.   This   angry,   empty,   lonely   beast.   It's   watching   me.

[slaaverin]

Hey Slavv

you’re video edit was wonderful, thank you for sharing it with us

I just wondered what you thought about the episode as a whole? Did the baby conversation make you take pause? I hope they are able to stay together despite not being able to be parents in the future.

Ohh thank you so much 💜

This question is quite hard for me to answer properly.

First of all, I really loved it. I had a very peculiar and quite strong reaction to it. I'll try to put it in words the best I can.

I'll start with a simple thing: in my 7 years of being a jikooker, that is all I ever wanted to see from them.

Being relaxed, happy, joyous, authentic, confortable.

So this felt like some kind of apoteose. Everything came full circle. For them & for me.

When you think about it, nothing really happened in this episode, they were doing the most mundane things, but there was this vibe of the most comfort, the most warmth, the most quiet and simple love, that my heart was deeply touched by it and after it hit me I really had no words to describe the feeling I had. It's deep stuff lol

Somehow they always exceed my expectations. I'm not those people who say "I expect nothing so I won't get disappointed". No, I expect things. But not because I want them to do certain stuff, more because I feel I know them sufficiently, and some of their patterns, and I see them within the love umbrella, so it gets easier and easier to predict what they might do or not. How crazy this is that they check absolutely all the boxes everytime and confirm every theory? I'm trying to stay sane of mind over here but no they want me to be the most delulu lol

Of course the ambiance really helped the episode to feel dream-like. And we know how much Japan means to them. JK must have said 384737 times how much he loved it and how happy he was.

Nothing was hanging on their shoulders anymore, no burdens, and I think that's why they were able to enjoy it this much.

It's quite insane when you think about it how fluid this all was. Like nothing felt out of place, conversation flowed easily, they are on the same wavelength about everything, they spoke openly, they had fun and let their inner child play, everything felt SO EASY. Their dynamic is just perfect, no hiccups, it just fits, jives, it clicks.

Now I am wondering how the hell they are not already a human representation of the Cosmic couple because if there is supposed to be a next level to this relationship I can't even imagine what that would look like. How much better can it get? It's so full of love already. Anyway I digress

About the child talk, firstly I was expecting this talk in Sapporo indeed. It was obvious they would at least mention it. So when I saw the scene I was already prepared mentally.

It doesn't make me worry about jikook because I think that if at some point they will want a child, they'll get to have one. Jimin or Jungkook can firstly adopt as a single parent (a bill has been passed about this in Korea recently) and then raise the child together unofficially. Or they can use a surrogate mother from overseas or something. You know they are filthy rich so I think if they REALLY want to, they would find a way.

But JK isn't ready about it yet lmao leave this man alone for now 😂

When and if it is the right time for the both of them there will be solutions so I'm not worried. This moment was really cute 🥰

Who knows what the future holds for them. Many years before we would have never expected to see them even shirtless, we would have not believed we would see their dynamic up this close in a show like this.

Things can evolve quickly. Who knows how things will develop with BTS as well, for how long will they remain a group?

It's true they are getting old, in "idol age".

Who knows how the country will evolve too?

I trust Jimin&Jungkook to make decisions about their future that will benefit them and their relationship. Maybe it will involve a child, maybe not. But I personally don't think they would break up because of this. You can see how precious their relationship is for them.

But only time will tell if I'm right.

Anyway, I could go over all the scenes of this episode and talk about it for hours.

I know this was an ephemeral dream for them this trip, like a time capsule, a bubble of normalcy, where everything is and means suddenly more. There was nothing and everything they needed at the same time. Ahh, so beautiful 🥺

I wish their lives were all the time like this, but it is what it is, they had to come down from the cloud, and face their duty, then it will be their schedule, and things will go back to regular program.

But for now I don't mind losing myself in the dream with them, and float, and pretend everything is the way they want it to be.

"All for your happiness" Jimin said

If they are happy, I am happy.

Let's enjoy those next 2 eps, I think we're in for other surprises.

Thank you for your ask 💜

[drunkwhenimadethis]

I was confessing my absurd fears to my bf with things along the lines of being betrayed or him finding other women sexually attractive and asked if he had any similar fears. He said he did, and it was that I was only with him for his money. Essentially: I am a gold digger. I have always refused monetary gifts and him paying for things. However I’ve been staying with him for three months after he got me kicked out of my last rooming house because Im in college and couldn’t find a place quick enough, and was extremely adamant about it but he insisted. We’ve been together for almost a year. He said that the thought of me using him for money is recurring, but he’s unemployed and his parents pay for everything besides his groceries. What do I make of this? It’s really offput me that he thinks of me this way

Disclaimer I love to remember that the English “advice” comes from the Latin “videre” to see so if I give you this advice it is not a prescription, it is only my way of looking at things in this moment

I think one thing I would like to point out is that you wrote: “It was that I was only with him for his money. Essentially: I am a gold digger.” There are a million ways of interpreting a single statement made by someone that we care about, and since so much of life creation begins with storytelling in the mind, you want to be quite meticulous about the interpretations that you align with and carry forward. I don’t think that “Essentially: I am a gold digger” makes the most sense logically nor in terms of experiencing what you want, which I assume is love, commitment, trust, and closeness

Why essentially are you a gold digger? Did he say that or did he say that he has an absurd fear that you might be with him for reasons other than who he himself is? “Money” —the word—and its associations make us react emotionally and indignantly “How dare you!!!!” but he said the same thing that you said, he shared the fear he has that maybe he alone is not enough for you

When you shared that you’re fearful of him being attracted to other women, did he say that essentially you are calling him a dishonest whore with no dick discipline? Would that make sense to you if he reacted that way or would you feel like hmm, this man is really making my fears about himself?

Your fears are yours and yours alone

I am guilty of wanting the perfect words or actions to assuage me but it never works out that way. You need to go into yourself and pour love on your fears and kill them

He can tell you everything you want to hear and then what happens when he’s out of sight?

What happens if he has to leave the country? What happens if you can’t have eyes on him?

Are we doomed to constantly revert back to fear?

See yourself as the only one 

Don’t entertain competition in your mind

Don’t dwell on these fears. Your subconscious can’t reason with you

Remove the negative imaginary conversations—not only are they a waste of time, they are by nature of reality active forces 

Be happy for him that his family takes care of him, not everyone gets that and it’s good

Imagine he will take care of you like his family taught him to. Imagine sturdiness and dependability. Imagine better than what you know

Wish him the best on his job search, remove safety-seeking in the form of judgment

You are deserving and you’re allowed to accept gifts from your boyfriend. Work on this asap, I think there's something in you that just doesn't feel worth it and you can't outrun that and nobody can appease that for long

And don't tell yourself that he got you kicked out of your last rooming house, even if it seems true. If you can choose any belief and create life with it, since you’re creating even when you’re not consciously aware that you’re doing so, why don’t you choose something that serves you both more? Why not tell yourself that the universe is conspiring to bring you closer to each other?

Loving and fearless! Avanti!

“The beautiful idea you awaken in yourself shall not fail to arouse its affinity in others.”

[hawkeyetrained]

Step Away From Him, Now

Dean Winchester x Fem!reader established relationship (nothing too detailed)

Other Characters: Sam Winchester (barely there), John Winchester

Warnings: canon violence (kinda?), language, mention of wounds, blood, wendigo mention, arguing, that’s it I think?

Summary: She's finally had enough of John treating Dean so horribly

A/N: This is kinda my take on how Dean used to talk about his dad. Probably made John out to be a little worse than he really was, but I always saw him as someone who pushed Dean to his limits when they hunted together

Word Count: 2712

John Winchester. Everyone in the hunting world knew that name. Winchester. Now, his sons Sam and Dean held the legendary last name in all the stories that were passed around.

John had been married to Mary, an amazing woman with hunter parents, who had wanted nothing more than to get out of the life she knew. She wanted to run as far as she could from the world of monsters and have a normal life with a husband who loved her and maybe a few little babies along the way. She did eventually make her way out of the hunting world and build the life she wanted. John loved her so much, and she did end up having two little baby boys after a few years, but the world of monsters didn’t leave her alone for long. She had gotten up one night to check on her youngest baby, little Sam Winchester, only for her world to come crashing down.

The story was well known now amongst hunters across the country. Sam and Dean were then raised in the world of monsters by their father who wanted nothing but revenge against the thing that killed his wife and mother of his boys. Now, that doesn’t mean John was winning ‘Father of the Year’ awards, his boys learned the hard way how to survive in the world filled with evil. Dean was practically forced to become his fathers little soldier, always taking orders, and doing as he was told in order to protect his younger brother.

My own mother had been friends with Mary before she left hunting to build her family, so when John and his boys turned up on our doorstep years after she died, my family didn’t hesitate to bring them in.

Over the years the Winchester boys and I grew up to be incredibly close. We learned to rely on each other during hunts, and once Sam had taken off for college, Dean and I became an unstoppable duo on hunts John sent us out on. We worked seamlessly together, always covering the others back and making sure everything was handled before the local law enforcement could catch up to us.

That doesn’t mean I always followed John’s orders. Dean took orders without hesitation while I stopped to question John when I knew a plan wouldn’t work or seemed a little too good to be true. Dean and I had been placed in the field as bait far too many times for me to blindly allow John Winchester to order me around anymore. My mother taught me well while I was growing up. She told me to always double check things before committing, make sure me and my partner were safe, and always watch my back.

Sam coming back to help Dean and I track John down made hunting even easier. A third set of eyes and a fresh take on the cases helped in ways Sam couldn’t even understand. Once we found John and managed to work a few cases as a group of four, I started picking up on things I hadn’t noticed when Sam wasn’t with us.

John was now always double-checking leads, making sure Sam was sent with plenty of weaponry and back up, while Dean and I were nearly forced to figure out our half the plan on our own without the promise of proper gear or even the availability to call for backup if something were to happen.

I had finally had enough when we were sent on a wendigo case John deemed “simple enough for the two of us to handle” and ended up with Dean and I nearly killed.

“I can’t take this anymore.” I half growled as we pulled into the motel parking lot John and Sam were staying in. “We’re gonna get killed one of these days because your father doesn’t give a shit about us.”

“Stop.” Dean parked the car. “He didn’t know there were more than one in those caves.” Again, Dean had an excuse to not blame his father.

My eyes were wide and mouth hanging open at his words. “You’re kidding, right? We didn’t do any of the research because he ‘had it covered’.” I moved my fingers with the quote John had said an hour before Dean and I left for the hunt. “He’s the one that said it was one and would be a simple case.” Dean stepped out of the car, favoring his right side from being tossed into some stone. I followed, carefully getting out of the sleek black Impala, and grabbing my bag from the back seat.

Everything in my body screamed in pain. My arms were bruised from where the creature had grabbed me, digging its nails into my skin, and bruising my once clear skin. Scrapes and deeper scratches littered my legs and arms from falling in rocks and being dragged down one of the tunnels. “Just stop.” Dean groaned, joining me on my side of the car and resting a hand on my cheek. “The important part is that we’re alive.”

His broken down and tired voice reduced my anger as I took in just how exhausted he looked. He and I had grown close over the years of hunting together, and that closeness eventually turned into love, that’s why we made such a great pair. I sighed and nodded my head, leaning in closer to his hand. “Ok, I’ll drop it for now. Just wanna grab a shower and pass out for the night.”

A soft smirk covered Dean’s face. “You and me both baby.” His arm drifted across my shoulders and pulled me into his side as we headed into the motel room to meet up with his family.

The moment the door was opened, and our bags were tossed to the floor, John was already up from the table and handing us a folder. “Got another one for you. A couple hours west of here that needs taken care of now.”

My hands clenched into fists as Dean took the folder and drifted over to the bed he and I shared to take a look. Everything in my body ached and I knew Dean was in the same boat, plus, he could do with about three days of sleep to make up for lost sleep over the last week. He was barely running on black coffee and the little food he ate between fighting monsters and catching maybe an hour or two of sleep each night. At the first sight of his eyes slipping closed as he read through the folder, my anger got the better of me.

“No.” I snapped, grabbing my bag from the floor, and moving to my side of the bed opposite Dean. “We’re not taking a hunt hours away tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?” John turned from the table.

I crossed my arms defiantly. “I said no. Can’t you hear?” Sam glanced at Dean in a way to figure out where my anger was coming from. “Dean and I haven’t had a break in weeks, John. Weeks. We need sleep, and time to heal.”

“People are dying out there. Don’t you get that?” John snapped, slapping down another few folders and a notebook.

“I do, and that sucks, but seriously? People die every day, sometimes luck runs out, and yeah, it’s really shitty to die from a monster mommy and daddy tell you isn’t real, but that’s the world we live in. If you’re so concerned about these people, then you can go deal with it.”

John looked like I had just smacked him across the face. “You need to get control over her.” His eyes had slipped over to Dean’s. “You’ve both got three hours till your asses better be on the road for Colorado.”

My mouth had dropped open in shock from John thinking Dean could or would control anything I did like that. I was prepared to give him a real piece of my mind when Dean finally spoke up. “No.” he stood from his spot on the bed and joined my side. “You know, we were nearly killed today. The freak got the drop on us with one of its buddies and dragged her down a tunnel. All because your research was wrong.” His voice was slowly growing in volume, and I was beyond thankful the motel was practically empty tonight. “You haven’t even taken a moment to ask if we’re ok. But yeah, dad, were gonna be fine.”

John launched into a rant on how Dean and I have been messing up every hunt over the last few months, coming back with more and more wounds, more complaints, and requesting more time between hunts. He threw every little thing at Dean’s face like he wasn’t already in pain from the day. I watched as Dean’s face slowly fell from the confident and angry man trying to protect me, to the look of a kicked puppy as his dad belittled him with his younger brother watching on. I could tell Sam didn’t know how to step in and stick up for Dean, so it was up to me to protect the oldest Winchester when no one else would.

“Back up.” That same angry growl from the car scratched at my words as I stepped beside John who had cornered Dean into the wall of the motel. “Step away from him, now.” My hands balled into fists, tighter and tighter with the longer John was taking to back away from his son. “I said back the hell up, now.”

His dark eyes flashed to my face as he stepped back half a foot. “The hell you say to me?”

I pushed my way between John and Dean, making sure to keep eye contact with John Winchester while I did. “You do not get to talk to him like that. Dean isn’t some little soldier toy for you to throw at the problems you think he can fix. He isn’t indestructible like you think he is. He’s human and needs a god damned break every once in a while. How can you not see that he doesn’t want to let you down but that he’s struggling to keep up with your constant demands? He does everything you ask, “keep an eye on Sammy, don’t let anything happen to Sammy”.” I started quoting him from the past few years. “You have two sons, John. Don’t you remember that? Two! Dean deserves the protection you give to Sam as well. He’s your kid too!”

Silence filled the motel room after my little outbreak, but I couldn’t tell if John was going to let it go for the night or continue to fight. “Dean’s the oldest. He knows the responsibilities that come with that.”

It felt like my skin was on fire with the anger that radiated through my body. “I need you to shut the fuck up and listen for once in your life.” Sam was silent and still as a statue on the bed, papers still scattered around him. “I don’t give a shit about if he’s the oldest or whatever is stuck in your twisted head. I understand you lost your wife, and baby Sam never got a chance to know his mother, and that’s horrible. But Dean lost his mom too. He lost her just like you and Sam did, but because he was four and not a baby, that means to you that he now deserves to be your slave for the rest of his life. It means hunting what you deem necessary and when you say so? He isn’t someone you get to command around for eternity.”

“And who the hell do you think you are, telling me what to do with my family. Last I checked, you weren’t a part of this family.” John’s anger was boiling over at this point. His face was bright red, and I swore I could see a vein in his neck pulsing. “You’re just some tag-along who thinks she can stick around with Dean long enough to be more than a piece of ass to him.”

That caused a deafening silence to flood the room that even a gunshot couldn’t overpower. “Right.” I nodded, willing the sting in my eyes to go away so John wouldn’t have more ammunition to throw at me. “Right. I’m here simply because I wanna be a late-night booty call to him…it couldn’t possibly be because someone needs to be on his side for once. Couldn’t be that he needs someone to watch his back on hunts because his father doesn’t care enough. Or it couldn’t be that I simply love him and want to be here for him, right? No, it’s absolutely because I wanna be his hook-up on the few nights where he isn’t struggling to stay awake because he has to finish some research you and Sam couldn’t do, or the other nights where he’s too busy being beaten by monsters.” I took a deep breath and stepped back an inch, barely leaving enough space between John and I before I turned towards the bed to grab my purse and gear bag. “Go to hell, John.” My shoulder slammed into his as I walked past him and out of the motel room.

I didn’t make it very far down the row of rooms before a voice could call and stop me in my tracks. “Wait a minute!” Dean’s voice echoed over the nearly vacant parking lot.

“What?” I asked as he joined my side, his green bag hanging from his hand. “Wait, I…Dean. Did he…”

“No. He didn’t throw me out.” Dean’s free hand came to rest on my shoulder. “I just ditched. I couldn’t let you leave alone after that.” Guilt tugged at my chest as I thought of Dean walking away from the only family he had left.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place and…”

He cut me off again. “No one’s ever stood up for me like that.” Dean was quiet as his eyes met mine. “I’ve never had someone in my corner against my dad before.”

“You don’t deserve the way he treats you.”

“I know. It’s always been hard to tell him when I need time off, or even just a break. He’s so driven and focused all the time on getting the thing that killed mom that I don’t think he even notices how he acts sometimes.”

I dropped my bag. “God, Dean. There you go again. You make up these excuses for the way he acts like its ok to treat you like a damn dog. I don’t care that he wants to find the thing that killed her, you and Sam want that just as badly but you two don’t go out endangering each other at every little possible chance you get. I’m sorry you guys lost her, that sucks, and I can’t imagine the pain you all felt, but he needs to understand that you can’t keep risking your life like he expects you to.”

He nodded at my words. “I know.” It was barely a whisper coming from him now. “I just don’t know how to tell him. You’ve seen it, the way he gets when he sets his mind to something.”

“I know.” It was my turn to nod. “You get it from him. You’re so focused sometimes on the hunt or helping someone that everything else kinda blurs.” I gently cradled his face in my hands. “There is one huge difference though. When your partner is hurt, or even struggling, you drop everything as fast as you can to go help them. You’re there in time to save me, every time I need you.”

“And I always will be, you know that, right?” Dean’s hands rested softly on my hips, drawing me in closer to his chest.

“I do.” I smiled up at him. “Now, what do you say to a drink at the bar down the street and a night spent in the car in the middle of nowhere?”

“I’d say that sounds like a great plan to me.” He let me grab the bag I dropped, pressed a soft kiss to the side of my head, and led me towards the infamous black Impala.

@thetallassgirl @hallecarey1

[pedriache]

Arda…. Arda…. They used to date when they were around 16/17 or something and they spot each other and their feelings come rushing back but she lowk ‘hates’ him for ending things with her, so she’s cold, but deep down she knows she still wants him and they can somehow run into each other and he literally won’t let her leave without explaining and it’s this whole thing (whether it be a 2parter filled with angst, or just a oneshot with angst to comfort is up to you)

Right where you left me — Arda Güler.

Pairing: Arda Güler x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a long day at work, the last thing you expected to come home to see was your ex. He couldn’t leave you alone, demanding you talk. And maybe, just maybe, it was for the better.

Disclaimer/s: angst with a hopeful ending

A/N: oh by i actually hate this please forgive me for my sloppy writing today..

Your parents had sent you a text to inform you they had invited some friends over, and you hadn’t thought much of it the whole drive home from work. You’d been too preoccupied with thinking about your day at work, to even think to ask who they’d invited over.

Climbing out of your car, you grab your phone and purse. Your eyebrows furrow as you take in the black SUV, a car that looked all too familiar, but you couldn’t quite place why.

Shaking off the weird feeling that began to form in the pit of your stomach, you open the front door, announcing your arrival. “I’m home!” You yell out, dropping your purse on the floor and slip out of your shoes.

The smell of fresh dinner greets your nose, causing a content sigh to leave your lips. If only that peace would’ve lasted.

Entering the kitchen, you feel your heart stop. The color washes from your face as you take in the scene in front of you.

Arda. Your ex. Standing a few feet away from you, the same expression on his face. His eyes are wide, his heart thumping in his chest, and the color drained from his face.

He was at your house, in your kitchen, and he was surprised to see you?

You clear your throat, eyes snapping to your mom as she’d started to speak. “Hey! How was work hon?” She has a full plate of food in her hand as she looks up at you with a smile, “we’re going out back to eat, plate up!”

“It was okay.” Your voice wavers as you speak, trying to ignore the extra presence in the room. “Okay, I have to shower though..”

“Well! The Güler’s will be here for a bit longer, so take your time.” She presses a kiss to your head before exiting the kitchen, leaving you and Arda and the awkward silence, alone.

Head snapping back in his direction, annoyance consumes you. He, who’d broken up with you on your birthday. He, who’d left you alone in your favorite restaurant to move to another country. He, who had the audacity to stand in your kitchen, and look so much better than the last time you’d seen him. He, who invaded your every thoughts, even now. Even two years later.

A scoff leaves your lips involuntarily. Ridiculous. Shaking your head in disbelief, you turn sharply on your heals, ignoring the way he calls out your name.

You ignore the sound of him shuffling after you, following you back to your bedroom. You’d nearly escaped him, when you feel his fingers wrap around your wrist, gently pulling you to a stop.

“Arda—“ You hiss, “let go of me.”

His lips purse, eyes flickering across your face, eyebrows pulling together. “Talk to me, please.”

You let out a laugh, though no humor was found in it. “Yeah, no. Fuck you.” You snap. “Let. Go.”

Despite your anger, despite it all, you hadn’t tried to get out of his grasp. Because you knew deep down, this is exactly what you’d been waiting for, for years.

“I can’t let you go, we need to talk about this.” He sighs, his grip on your wrist loosening slightly. He hated that you looked at him with all the years of hurt clear in your eyes. He hated that he was the reason for it all.

“You want to talk about this? About how you broke up with me on my birthday? For Gods sake, Arda. Don’t even bother.” You’d given up trying to sound angry, you just sounded.. defeated. Like even this small interaction was taking all your energy.

Arda’s eyes fall to the floor, trailing the wooden pattern. “I’m sorry.” It was a weak apology, but he didn’t know what else to say. “I’m sorry, I screwed up. I know that, but I just—“

“Whatever. Take your weak ass apology and shove it so far up your—“

He cuts you off, your name coming out harsh and uneven of his tongue. “Can we not resort to insults, we’re adults.”

You clamp your eyes shut, your face now full of amusement. “How insanely hypocritical of you. Fuck off.” You finally tug your wrist from his hold, attempting to turn around, but you are stopped once again when he speaks.

“I thought I was doing you a favor.” His voice is quiet, filled with shame and regret. Your back is still to him, eyes staring at the ceiling to try and stop the tears welling up. “I thought that if I broke things off before I left, that it would make the whole thing easier for you. I thought it was what you wanted.”

“Wanted?” You swivel back around, eyes ablaze. “Oh my God! I loved you! Why would I want that?! And on my birthday nonetheless!”

“Because, you always said how much you hated long distance! And I didn’t mean to! But we started arguing and—and it just came out!” Arda’s shoulders slumped, his hands rubbing his face to calm his nerves.

“That’s a stupid excuse.” You roll your eyes, “you are stupid. I would’ve made it work. For you, I would make anything work.”

Would.

Present tense.

Arda’s eyes trail up to yours, staying there until he was certain he hadn’t hallucinated that part. “I’m sorry, I messed things up. I wish I could take it all back. I’d do anything to fix what I broke.”

“Well you can’t. So.. so just leave me alone.” You felt all your energy disperse. You had enough of fighting and enough of him.

Taking a deep breath, Arda nods. “Okay. If that’s what you want, I will.” He stands there, waiting for you to respond. When you don’t, he takes that as his cue to leave.

He slowly turns around, his head down as he makes his way back into the kitchen. “Arda?” You call out, against your better judgement.

The boy stops, his head turning to the side, “yeah?”

“I—“ You hesitate, “I could forgive you.. one day. Just not today.”

The corner of his lip twitches, a small movement, but you caught it. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Yeah, just next time, give me a heads up,” you huff before adding, “idiot.” Just for dramatic effect.

Arda chuckles quietly as he walks away, leaving your heart pounding at the familiar sound. You were maybe being too easy on him, but how could you not? A small part of you still loved him.

DTS , @halfwayhearted !

[narrators-journal]

Grass is greener

Okay! So, I only did the barest of skims on Feitan’s wiki as a refresher for this, and then just wung the rest off of memory. So, this might be a bit hit or miss on characterization, but I hope it’s still a good read. It came a lot easier than I thought it would, probably just because I think it’s funny to imagine someone as cruel and blood thirsty as Feitan being domestic, and maybe a little bitter about how, deep down, he’s okay with that, or enjoys it. Either way! I knocked it out p quick, and I hope you have fun reading it like I did writing it.

It felt like only a few years back, Feitan Portor had been a name that was feared across the country. His sadism had been a nightmare for just about everybody, good or bad, acquaintance, friend, or enemy. There had only been one other person who seemed to have the spine to challenge his reputation, and he’d ended up marrying that person. Together, the two had became a whole new source of fear for people.

In reality, though, that had been at least sixteen years ago now. Nowadays, the most blood the ravenette saw came from the steaks he’d order rare on date nights. The most torture he got to inflict came whenever he got the chance to teach his sixteen-year-old daughter his tactics, or on those few, rare times the two of you were able to get a full night completely free of your trio of children. Most of his day-to-day, though, was packed with far less exciting things. Parent-teacher meetings, cleaning, debates on whether or not his second youngest would be a headache or not.

God, I miss the spiders… He thought as he plucked the mushrooms out of his toddler son’s chubby hands before he could ‘stealthily’ swap it for more marshmallows. I’d even welcome Uvogin into my life again. Or, maybe I can talk Phinks into letting me torment him. Lord knows he makes enough jokes to deserve it. “Papa, papa, papa!” His hyperactive daughter chanted at the same time with a jumbo-sized box of colorful, sugary cereal held up to try and distract him from her baby brother. “Put it back, you don’t need it.” He sighed with barely a glance offered to the girl as he put his hand protectively back on the mushrooms in the cart. “But I want it!” “No.” “But I want it.” “No.” “But I want it.” She insisted stubbornly, and Feitan took a moment to ‘think’ before he responded to that one with a flat, “No.” Which, got him a very pissed off look from the little girl and a snort from his eldest daughter.

Thankfully, you returned from the depths of the store at that point, quick to snatch away the cereal and plop it back onto the store shelf. “Leave your father, and the mushrooms, alone. You guys already have sweets and cereal in the cart.” You reminded, and shut the conversation down with a swiftness. Which, made the ravenette glare at you while he watched you unclip the toddler’s child harness from his belt so that you could pick the little boy up an ease that made him smile slightly behind his face mask.

After all, of course a squirmy, mushroom-hating tot was nothing for you. If you were able to pin and go toe-to-toe with Feitan, a miniature version of you surely weighed less than a ten pound bag of rice. Maybe that’s why you have such an easier time at this than I do. He thought at you with a hint of bitterness in his own internal voice. Though, whether that came from his restlessness, or the bit of jealousy that seemed to permanently linger, even after your marriage. Though, at the same time that Feitan wished ill upon you for the sheer enjoyment of it, his attraction to you grew stronger.

How could it not? He knew how strong you were, and it was a thrill to see you use that strength to carry one of his children so easily. It proved to the ravenette that you could still fight him if you wanted, and he very much wanted to fight. “-tan? Hey, hun.” Your words abruptly flopped onto the train tracks of his thoughts to drag the pale man back to reality. Back to the commercially scented aisles of the shop and the cookies that you held out to him. “Can you go put this back and retrieve the mushrooms?” “Right.” He muttered, his mood curbed by the triumphant giggle of his second oldest child as he went back to find the mushrooms once again and return the cookies.

On the bright side, He told himself as he passed chips, dips, and bread loaves, When the spiders do finally reconvene, I’ll have at least one daughter trained in my ways. Maybe both of them if it takes long enough. I’m sure Chrollo would be very happy with that. As if Feitan would actually let his children follow the morbid life path you and him went down. Despite being a sadist, he wasn’t a Zoldyck. He wasn’t so morally bankrupt to wish his children the same difficulties he has had to deal with.

Feitan was a bit restless and unaccustomed to the domesticity of family life, yes. But, it still brought him joy to find his family in the maze of shop aisles and hear his younger daughter lisp indignantly, “But you don’t thtop her from buying candy!” “That’s because your sister’s buying that stuff with her own money, and she’s not fighting me on mushrooms.” You pointed out, before the teenage copy of himself stage whispered, “I’m also the favorite.” to relish in yours and her sister’s denial of that fact.

It wasn’t as good as the fear Feitan used to induce in people, but at least he could find joy in the knowledge that his children could be just as mean as him.

[libraryscarf]

this is my fic for night divining: a noragami tarot zine project - leftover sales are happening now, check it the heck out!!!

the fool ( ao3 )

1.

Your purpose , he has been told from the earliest age he can remember, is this.

He carefully watches his parent clip branches from the fruit tree.

If we leave the unfruitful and corrupted branches, it will stunt the rest of the tree. The purpose of the tree is to make fruit for us—you like the fruit, don’t you?

He nods. The figs from this tree are delicious. He reaches up for the smallest one on a lower-hanging branch.

His parent pulls the branch out of reach, smiling.

If you don’t fulfill your purpose, you will disappoint me. You will have to make up for it, otherwise I might be very angry with you.

His parent looks at him, head at a slight tilt, cheeks still lifted in a gentle smile.

I could make another of you. Did you know that? And I could unmake you, as easily as I could break these shears. You are my creature, Yaboku. My tool.

He is given the shears, handle first.

Now, little one. Do as your father tells you.

2.

“Alone, alone, alone…alone again!!”

There is a guttering spark of hope still in his heart that Tomone will hear him and turn back, offer herself as his shinki, apologize for abandoning him so cruelly—just so he could laugh in her face, and maybe kick some dirt on her clothes as well.

But he wouldn’t do that.

If Tomone turned around—which didn’t seem likely, since she had in fact vanished a good ten minutes previously without a glance backward—Yato would take her again. He’s familiar with the feeling of being weaponless, but that doesn’t make it particularly nice.

He grabs a can of spray paint as though it could serve as a divine blade, and begins busily defacing the nearest bridge with his phone number.

He lifts his voice in a misery-laden crescendo:

“Aloooooone…AGAAAAAAAIN!!!”

“Shut up!” shouts the red-faced, wild-haired wino camping under the bridge. He chases Yato down the street, brandishing a half-empty bottle.

Yato loses his pursuer quickly–it’s nice to be able to fade into the background in such moments. He slinks into the shadows of a shrine, fingers tight around the neck of his own glass bottle. The heavy clink of the coins is comforting. Now that Tomone is gone, it is also his main weapon.

He lies down under one of the benches, trying to trick his mind into spinning a dream of his own lavish shrine. Covered in gold, studded with gems, absolutely lousy with shrine-maidens…it will be the best shrine, certainly for any god in the country, perhaps even the world.

Yato goes to sleep, smiling, hugging his bottle, the grandiose architecture of his imagination wrapping him as soundly as any blanket.

He won’t fade forever.

3.

As Yato watches his new shinki sleep the dreamless sleep of the dead, he considers his options.

He just wanted a weapon. What he got was…this.

Responsibility.

He hasn’t had much to do with that concept for a number of years. Perhaps, in fact, he never has had a single responsibility, which is what makes this situation so damn uncomfortable.

Now he has two charges: a foul-mouthed, broken-hearted child ghost, and the human girl who guilted him into keeping that ghost around.

“He’s your responsibility,” she had said, ad nauseam. What she hadn’t said was: So am I.

It should be so easy to be rid of them both. And they are both truly massive problems for him.

The kid would be easy enough to get rid of, as long as he doesn’t think about it too hard. That girl though…she might be more complicated. But his cuts have always been clean. For now, she’s not the problem.

Yato knows, even before he spends the rest of the night convincing himself how bad an idea it is, that he won’t revoke Yukine’s name.

It will be the hardest thing he’s ever done.

4.

The work takes less time than he thought.

He makes sure the hole is deep enough, and digs an extra two feet for good measure. He takes up his light burden and lays it within the earth. He entrusts it to the living soil that will make new things, growing things, out of something that should have been new and growing itself.

Because it takes less time than he thought, and also because he cannot yet make himself leave the little mound alone there on the hill, he sits there for a time. He wanders off after a while, comes back with a pack of cheesy buns, and eats all but one. The last he sets, carefully, on the overturned dirt.

Then he walks away.

5.

In the end, the decision is his.

A soft, helpless voice deep inside him—a voice that sounds like Hiiro’s—asks:

Will it be worth it? Will they be happier without you? Really, truly happier?

Then growing to a shriek inside him, nearly physical in its desperation: Is this the only way?

And it is. The only way he can go, after all, is toward the thing that made him, and toward the thing that will unmake him. He doesn’t mind that. He’s already been lucky enough to find happiness twice, which is two times more than he deserved.

He closes his eyes, feeling Kazuma’s impatience growing with every second of delay. His newest shinki’s willingness to toss both their existences on the fire without a second thought is something Yato never thought he would value, but it certainly serves his ends now.

The image of the little shrine flashes through his mind, hooking his heart like a struggling fish. The scarred fingers that built it—how long can their owner keep waiting for him? How hard can she possibly believe in him? How much does he deserve that faith?

After all, he tried so hard to chase her off. Her first prayers to him were in the form of ghosted texts and screened calls. She had been his first, his only, his most relentless worshiper, and he had spurned her for it.

Here, at the start of the day and at the end of the world, Yato only knows that he owes her a debt.

You’ve been my god of fortune for a long time.

He opens his eyes, and across the dark and silent space between them, he senses Kazuma sit up. The dawn is gray and still, holding its breath, until Yato says:

“All right. It’s time to go.”

[notwiredforthisworld]

Somewhere in 2012, a friend introduced me to a boyband she liked. I had no idea who they were. I hadn’t even turned 10 then, and I didn’t have social media. She played me a few songs, and I remember not getting it at first, and telling her that I didn’t like it. I loved music, but I never really cared too much about getting to know artists, so her obsession didn’t really make sense to me. But for some reason, when I got home that day I searched ‘One Direction’ on youtube. I watched music videos, interviews, fan compilations. I fell down a rabbit hole of fanmade lyric videos until I knew every single word to every single song, in a language that wasn’t even mine. I still say that I learned more english from one direction interviews than I ever did in school. I’m not sure where or why the obsession started. Maybe I just wanted to fit in, to like the thing that all of my friends liked. But somewhere along the line, it became so much more than that. It was their music, playing on a loop in my headphones, that helped me drown out everything wrong around me. One Direction was the reason I fell in love with music, the reason I joined social media, the first fandom I was in. It was the reason there were even others, the reason I met so many people. My best friends.

When One Direction announced a show in my country, in 2014, my friend went to see it, even though it was halfway across the country. I was 12 at the time, and I begged my parents to go. They said no. Their excuse was that I was too young, and neither of them understood a teenage girl’s obsession with a boyband, and if I’m honest with myself, I can now understand they probably couldn’t afford it. So they said no. And they promised me that next time I could go. A year later, I was leaving a music class with that same friend when one direction posted a statement about Zayn leaving. I cried the whole way home. I think that was my first heartbreak. The year after, they split up, even if 13 year old me would yell at everyone who dared mention it that it was a break, not a break up. I changed schools that year. I lost touch with that friend. A lot of things changed, but my playlist didn’t. It never did. 15 year old me started high school in a new place, listening to that same band, with the same posters hanging on the back of my door, just as excited for solo releases as I had been for one direction.

In 2019, when Harry announced a show in my country, that friend was the first person I called. The show was postponed, due to covid, but I remember 17 year old held on to those things like her life depended on it. I think in a way, it did. During lockdown, I got closer to the fandom than I had been in years. I was straight out of high school, I was lonely, and lost, and 18 year old me found in old videos and online communities the same sense of belonging she had found at 10. In 2022, me and my friend saw Harry together. I think a part of my teenage self was healed that day. So the year after, when Louis announced a show in the same place, 20 year old me skipped a uni class to buy tickets. It was the first concert I went to alone, and I sat on the floor of an arena during my favorite song, crying in the arms of a girl I never saw again. I hope she’s okay. That’s still one of my favorite moments. In 2023, Niall announced a tour without a stop in my country. 21 year old me drained her savings to fly to Ireland and see him there. When my mom argued, I told her she didn’t get to complain, because she hadn’t let me go to a show when they were still together, and if there would never be a next time, I would have to see all of them. Whatever it took. Until there was a next time. As I write this, the fact that there will actually never be a next time is hitting me like a brick.

Out of all of them, I probably resonated with Liam’s music the least. Right now, it’s bittersweet to realize I fell out of it, because of that and because of everything that came out after. Right now, 10 year old me is grieving. But so is 12 year old me, waiting up for music video releases. So is 15 year old me, going to high school with four playing on her headphones. So is 18 year old me, watching x factor videos when she got sad during lockdown. So is 22 year old me, coming to terms with the fact that one of the people she looked up to the most is… maybe not that good of a person.

One Direction has been a part of my life for longer that they haven’t been. I don’t remember a single moment, a single age, a single milestone, that they weren’t a part of, in some way.

So right now, I’m thinking of Liam’s family, of his friends, of his child. And I’m thinking of the boys, now men, that changed my life so profoundly, without ever knowing who I was. And on another note, I’m also thinking of Maya, and the women who came forward, and who will definitely feel the weight of this, even if they shouldn’t, even if it’s not on them, because that’s the way the internet works. I know that, because one direction is why I joined it in the first place. And it changed my life. To a degree, it changed my entire view of the world.

It’s a conflicting feeling. Grief usually is. But this type of grief… there’s no guidebook. How do you grieve someone who was never actually in your life? How do you grieve a face on a screen? A voice on a track? And specially, how do you do so while knowing so many things that you just can’t accept? Can’t support? That go against everything that is your beliefs? It hurts. It hurts that he’ll never get the help he so clearly needed. It hurts that the people who have always brought me the most comfort got their hearts broken in a way that was so drastic, so painful, so definitive. It hurts that it’s so definitive. So final. I think that’s the worst part. The little tiny part of me that has spent the last almost 10 years trying to believe it wasn’t final… just got told that it is. And it hurts that it feels like it’s not acceptable to be hurting like this.

I used to think about growing old one day, being in my 50s or 60s and having to read news like this one. But we were supposed to be old. We were supposed to have time. I wasn’t supposed to be 22, grabbing my phone to a text from my friend asking if I’d heard. If I was okay. I’m not.

I can’t listen to One Direction right now. But I hope 10 year old me can still turn the volume up when her parents are fighting in the next room. I hope 13 year old me can scream the lyrics to midnight memories at her friends’ houses. I hope 16 year old me can curl up in bed listening to made in the am everytime she needs someone to be there for her, like she always did. I hope 18 year old me, starting college alone in the middle of the pandemic, can rewatch San Siro and quote every line and find comfort in the nostalgia. I hope 20 year old me is screaming along at all the solo concerts. You’ll never see the 5 of them. I’m sorry.

In the end, my heart is with everyone who personally knew and loved Liam. And then it’s with us. The ones who grew up with him. The ones who found a sense of belonging in playlists, and stan accounts, and fanfics, and concerts. Because we’ll never get a next time. The boys will never get a next time. And I’m not really sure how to handle that thought, because there was supposed to be time, for all of us.

We were supposed to have a next time. Liam deserved a next time.

There was a whole lot of history there, after all.