#so maybe the duds here will also have to some day

[writingescapades]

In the Rain

Fields of Mistria: Balor, Rhys, March, Caldarus

A/N: It's been raining a lot here, so got inspired. Sorry if the characterization seems off. I'm playing the game slow and don't have all the lore and heart events. (I'm dying for an update where we get multiple save files. How will I romance them all????)

Balor

The rain always reduced the number of customers. It made for slippery paths as muddy water sloshed worn clothing. One always became soaked, not matter how well covered they attempted to be. Worst of all, the rain almost always made Balor ill. Suffice to say, Balor disliked the rain.

What the rain taught him was the comfort of shelter. The warmth of an enclosed spaced filled with music and laughter. The fullness of a hearty meal as rainwater serenaded him, and the soft thunder that lulled him to sleep. The rain was a temptation towards indulgence. It was different to experience a space to just exist in and not commoditize. Balor never knew how to feel about that. It enticed him but it also bit at him, as if the rain was attempting to domesticate him. Thankfully, the rain would always end.

It was on a rainy day that Balor, heading towards the inn, stumbled upon you. He instinctively invited you into the inn, especially once he registered your drenched state, but you only shook your head and turned your attention elsewhere. Once inside the inn, Balor surrender once more to the cozy environment. He sat on a bar stool waiting for the familiar warmth to wrap around him once more, holding him there till either the rain stopped, or he stumbled upstairs half asleep. But this time, Balor remained cold.

He kept remembering you. Your clothes and that flimsy hat would not last long under this downpour, yet you did not seem to mind. Instead, you face seemed focused. Balor tried to put his thoughts aside. Tried to chat with the locals, but 30 min later, he felt no different. It was only when Hemlock chided Balor to get on with what he really needed to do, that Balor finally escaped the inn.

He finally found you on the beach, fishing. Had he not been drenched, Balor would have laughed at the scene before him.

“What is so luring about fishing that I find the new farmer paying no heed to the rain?”

You turned and further confused Balor with a smirk. Did the rain not bother you?

“Some fishes only come out in the rain. Also, I seem to get a lot of treasure chests and sunken artifacts”.

Saying so, you pulled in your line to reveal an old treasure chest.

“Open it,” you urged.

It took some precarious locksmithing, but Balor finally opened the chest to reveal, a lump of wood. His expression must have been something for the cackle you let out.

“Sometimes they contain duds,” you consoled as you pulled in another chest.

This time, the box contained a bit of gold.

You urged him to keep the treasure, claiming it as his initiation into treasure hunting. Balor kept the gold, but his eyes locked out into the sea once more, excitement shining in his eyes. As he watched you cast out your line and waited for the next haul, Balor shivered. Maybe it was from the cold, and he probably would have a cold the next day. But the crisp air, the scent of the rain, the roaring of the sea all filled Balor with this familiar ache. He loved the inn and he’d grown on the people of Mistria. But comfort and desire were different, and Balor’s heart beat for this moment right here, where everything was just bit against him and the only thing that would save him rested on a silver line. A line you pulled and cast repeatedly until the moon was up and the rain finally stopped. Many treasure chests and artifacts were found, but for Balor the best treasure was discovered a new way to appreciate the rain.

Rhys

Rain and Carpenters were probably mortal enemies. Afterall, wet wood would worsen wealth for any carpenter. There was always a new customer, unaccustomed to wood composition who got upset when they discovered the damage the rain could do on wood. Like clockwork, the day after a rainfall always had Rhys running around fixing the damages and making repairs.

In anticipation of this, Rhys got into the habit of preparing on rainy days. It just saved time, though it took away from his other hobbies. His uncle always chided Rhys for working too hard, but he couldn’t persuade Rhys much, especially since Rhys’s hard work benefited the business. It was on such a day, where Rhys was walking out to the village square to pick up some supplies that he bumped into you.

You were lying on the ground, spread out like a starfish. Alarmed, Rhys immediately headed towards you to check if everything was well. Your closed eyes did not alleviate the situation, but the smile on your face made Rhys exhale a laugh and call out your name.

You didn’t open your eyes, but hummed along to his questions of concern. Rhys quickly understood that you were just being yourself. For quiet, calm, reliable Rhys, you were interesting. You did what you wanted with little care for the consequences or the opinions of others. It was, interesting and tempting, though Rhys was reluctant to admit it. He was about to go and leave you once more, when you turned towards him, shielding your face with your arm and spoke.

“Stay”.

It wasn’t an order, nor a job. Rhys should refuse. He should go to the market. He should work on new fences, bird feeders, fire circles for tomorrow. He should check the house and make sure everything is intact. He should not close his umbrella. He should not lie down like you, and he definitely should not smile as he got drenched. But Rhys did so.

It felt nice. That was a lie. It felt wonderful. The air really felt different in the rain. It smelled different. And the sensation of raindrops became soothing after a while, each drop a little greeting from nature. It was fun, and suddenly Rhys recalled all the projects he pushed to the side in order to work. All the nights he found himself awake, arms aching not from a hard day’s work, but from the lack of creative output. Rhy loved being a carpenter, and he was good at it. Yet, nothing compared to working on something that had no expectations, were Rhys could just be.

Rhys did not know how long you both lay there. No villager passed by. They were all probably at the inn anyway, passing time till the rain stopped. He probably would have joined them after a few urges, but now Rhys realized, that the warmth of the inn could not compare to the warmth of your hand. Infinitesimally less warm than the inn, Rhys still held on tight to your hand as his heart soared with an excitement he had stored away. He would not go home and work after the rain stopped. He would find those projects and, after a long time, he would have fun.

March

March always worked, rain or shine. A blacksmith’s work was always in demand. Even with his brother, the duo always put in long hours, but the pay off was well worth it. Though it was somewhat egotistical of him, March prided in knowing that he and his brother built this village. Thus, over the time, March became immune to the weather. It was just another day.

He was out making deliveries when he spotted you. You were walking, rather slowly, without an umbrella.

“Are you dumb?” March huffed out when he caught up with you, placing the umbrella above both of you. it wasn’t made for two, forcing March to put up with you drawing closer.

“Where’s your umbrella?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” you asked back.

March scoffed. Sense of adventure. Please. Just because you went into the mines to discover, didn’t mean March did the same. March went to the mines to collect resources. He did not pick up odd things. He did not talk to statues. He made practical tools and armour out the materials. That was all. There was no adventure to life. There was just the skill one developed when one worked hard.

But you would always ask him this question when he challenged your ways. March knew he should comment on your lifestyle. You never did so for him. But he couldn’t help it. There was something about you that irritated March, and seeing you be so, so, so unlike him yet so beloved fueled that irritation. Years as a Blacksmith trained March for expected results. He knew how to craft complex tools from a series of repeated motions and heat. When you came with your grandiose designs, March immediately rejected them, saying it was impossible. He shook his head when he saw you at the smithing table, failing over and over again. On the odd chance that something actually worked, March only sneered claiming it wouldn’t last long. He never learned if they did.

That’s all he did around everyone. Grumble, complain, ridicule. Even now he complained about having to hold his delivery and balance the umbrella over the two of you. Eventually you rolled your eyes, sighed, and took the umbrella. You both made it to his delivery address when March told you to keep the umbrella.

“If you get sick and die, I won’t have you haunting me because I didn’t give you the umbrella,” he muttered and all but shoved you off on your path.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance before a cold smile crept up your face, sending shivers down March. You walked a few steps with the umbrella, then suddenly flung it behind you and scampered off.

“Oy!” March yelled out to the sound of your laughter. You were moving fast, but he still caught your words in the rain.

“You would make the afterlife interesting for me to hang around?”

March picked up the umbrella and uselessly shook it before placing it above him once more. He made his way home but stopped at the blacksmith table. There was an item, one of your designs. Of no practical purpose and rudimentary. But it lasted. March quickly brought in the item and dried it. Staring at the object he traced the metal as his brain started to plan out ways to improve the object. To make it more attractive for customers, or to offer it as a decorative item detail. He could make hundreds of the improved model, but March would always keep this rudimentary one on his desk. It was a reminder; of that cold smile you always gave him before you set out prove him wrong. The one that sent shivers down March, not because it intimidated him, but because it awoke a slumbering excitement. A competition that had to last a lifetime, because March did not know how to make life an adventure without you.

Caldarus

Caldarus experienced rain for millenniums as a dragon and as a stone. It was different as a stone because though he knew when it rained, he couldn’t experience it as a living creature. It wasn’t until you moved into the acre of forest where his statue lay, that Caldarus was provided the opportunity to experience rain again.

You both developed a habit of sitting together in the rain. It was Caldarus who initiated the activity, concerned at seeing you work in the rain. If the rain was nature’s way to put a pause on life, then why were you working? When you sat beside him the first time, you fidgeted a lot, unused to doing nothing. You began to talk and ask him questions, and though Caldarus enjoyed your conversations, he intentionally slowed his responses to push you into experiencing the moment. It took time, but you changed. You slowed down. Took more breaks. Did nothing. Said nothing, and basked in the comfort only a familiar and age-old company can provide.

Then everything changed and Caldarus experienced rain differently for the third time. Experiencing rain in the human form was quite different. As a dragon, Caldarus paid no heed to the rain. It was more of a bath if anything else. As a stone, it was something he merely sensed through his magic. In both forms, rain allowed Caldarus to watch the world be cleaned. To experience a moment of silence as all sounds fell under the sound of rain. But as a human, the rain altered all his senses. He could hear it, smell it, feel it, even taste it. It was all wonderful and all too much. He now understood why many rushed to shelter, after all, who could endure this onslaught of the senses for longer durations?

In his human form, Caldarus expected rainy days with you to cease. He thought you would prefer time indoors as most humans did. But instead, Caldarus found your sitting on a stone bench, doing nothing.

“Dear one, why are you sitting on the bench? Would you not prefer the warmth of your home?”

You laughed and gave Caldarus a cheeky smile.

“Can’t stand the rain anymore Caldarus? What happened to experiencing nature’s pause?”

Caldarus ducked his head and looked away. The number of times he asked you to sit beside him in the rain, not once it crossed his mind that this act might make you sick. He opened his mouth to apologize for this negligence, when he saw your outstretched hand. Tentatively holding it, Caldarus found himself being pulled towards you. He landed on the stone bench while you sat on the ground beside him. The familiar positions you took when he was stone.

“I want to experience this moment with you, Caldarus”.

He would never tire of hearing you say his name, nor of spending time with you. It was a world you both created, a language you both understood, and a familiarity that long eluded Caldarus. He would forever cherish it.

“Of course, dear one”.

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy V

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge) ->chapter map

V. 

“You missed all the fun,” Matt tells you with a shy smile the next time you see him. “Our van wouldn't start. We spent half the night getting it running again.”

You lift an eyebrow. “Sorry to hear that. What was wrong?”

“Dead battery. And a flat tire.”

“Tough break.”

“Yeah. Kinda weird though, right?”

“A little.”

Professor Wick listens with half an ear from across the room, fighting to suppress a smirk.

-One afternoon you are poking around your neighborhood thrift store when you see a familiar crop of raven hair through the shelves. With mischief in your heart you take down a mangy-looking jackalope taxidermy from a shelf, using it like a puppet to peek around the corner. In a funny voice you say, “Pssst? Hey mister…wanna buy some milk duds?”

You peek around a moment later to find him smiling slightly, one eyebrow raised. “Young lady, do you have a license for that cryptid?” 

You can't stop yourself from grinning at him. “I fed it and it followed me here.” 

“They do that.” 

You have no idea how badly this man sympathizes with a stuffed rabbit defiled with deer antlers at that moment. 

You stand looking at each other for a very long, pregnant moment, which at least in your part is filled with a burgeoning longing you just don't quite know what to do with. You notice he's in the book section. 

“Looking for something particular?”

“Just…looking for books to rescue. It’s kind of a hobby.” He holds up a Victorian cloth bound edition of Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Stories. It’s seen better days.

“You're…going to fix it?”

“With luck.” He flashes a shy smile that sets off fireworks in your heart. “What are you hunting for?” 

“This and that.” You show him your basket filled with bric a brac. Boxes you want to turn into dioramas, fabric with prints you like, tin cutouts and costume jewelry by the pound you intend to glue onto things…for no better reason than it makes you happy. You do have some purpose to this trip though. “I’m…working on my submission to the Monster Masque. Have you ever been?” 

He shakes his head, that fluffy hair swinging into his face in an unfairly adorable way. “I’m kinda new in town.” 

You sort of knew that. You found out that he’d moved here to take the place of the professor who went on sabbatical.

“Well, it's the Halloween party around here. You have to try it at least once.” Part art show, part masquerade, part rave, it takes place in a warehouse by the river, and the art scene puts on their best. No commercial costumes allowed, everything must be handmade. Part of the fun is guessing who's who beneath their masks…and part of the fun is being anything or anyone you want to be. 

“Sounds like too much fun for an old fogey like me.”

You snort. “As if. You're not old.” This seems to hearten him, somehow. 

“Are you submitting one of your miniatures?”

You pause for a moment. You don't remember telling him about them, but they're not exactly a secret. “Yeah. I'm making a tiny haunted airstream trailer with ghosts who are like…glamping.”

“Glamping?”

You put on a serious air. “Am I commenting on the death of the American Dream, or do I just like cute creepy things? Who can say…”

He huffs with laughter, a sparkle in his dark eyes. “Interesting.”

“Do you…have any projects you're working on?”

He shakes his head and offers you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “I…haven't been too motivated, since my wife passed,” he admits, looking down at the stacks of books on the table before him. 

“I'm so sorry.”

“Thanks.” He sighs, putting on a brave face, and when he meets your eyes…you don't think you imagine the warmth that kindles between you, out of your own desperation. 

You don't know where you get the cheek to say, “Maybe something will inspire you soon.”

He holds your gaze, and it's like withstanding a lightning bolt straight through your heart. Yet somehow, you stand fast, resisting the urge to wilt before a wildfire.

“If I'm lucky,” he answers, and your heart lodges in your throat, tasting of ash.

You browse the rest of the store together, chatting lightly and chuckling over some of the treasures you find. By the time you are ready to leave you have filled your basket with odds and ends. He has three books–and the jackalope.

“What are you going to do with that?” you laugh as he tucks it under his arm when you leave. 

“I think I’m going to make you pose with it next class,” he jokes. 

You cackle with delight, your mirth filling the street. People shoot you odd looks as they walk by, and you try to look contrite, smiling sheepishly. 

“Should I bring a cowboy hat?” you tease, more in the spirit of being silly than suggestive, but you can tell immediately that your offer hits a different way. You’re not sure how it’s possible for this man to appear equally flustered and wolfish, his eyes darkening to true black as his attention sharpens upon you.

“That…might be too much…for all of our sakes,” he answers diplomatically, and once again you feel too hot under your collar, wishing the sidewalk would open up and swallow you. Why do you always have to ruin everything by running your mouth?

“Ok.” You look around, wondering which way would prove your quickest escape. The least painful option would probably be to walk straight into traffic. “I guess…I’ll see you Monday.”

You have to go crawl into a hole. 

You have no idea how badly he does not want you to go, but before he can think of another thing to say to ease your embarrassment or possibly pry his big foot out of his mouth you’re already halfway down the block.

He watches you go with a sigh.

TBC...

---

->chapter map

[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

[monstress]

arcane s2 thoughts

prayinggg we get a no soundtrack version because while i do like a few of the tracks (yes even Enemy!!!), there are more duds than hits and they take me out each time

also obviously i'm a Jinx Is Alive truther because of the ending scene of cait staring at the air ducts to the hextech tower fiddling with a fragment of her bomb...come on. jinx has said in the start of the season that she wanted to leave piltover/zaun and with isha gone and her sister happy, she can finally do that

i am very invested in jinx and vi's relationship so when jinx without any hesitation chose to let herself go from vi's grasp and destroy warwick (both something that vi could not do) which in one fell swoop legitimizes her agency, protects vi from a monster, saves vander from eternal hell - i'm like yea...[sniffs] that's a redemption arc baby

jinx and vi. piltover and zaun. they'll always be sisters...yea....

i admire the open ending with the airship. but she did say she'll ride one of those things one day. yay.

maybe an unpopular opinion but i liked cait this season. finally some bite and controversy and trauma to her choices. she was way tooooo comfortable in s1. while she's still a cop, at least she's interesting now!

also ok....yelled and hollered when lesbian sex is finally happening. rejoice guys - i thought we will never get it

the writing pace of this show is bonkers and i understand they need to keep it tight because of animation budget but what the helllllll was that viktor machine herald speedrun. it felt like it needed a good one more season to incubate and i was overwhelmed with that + jayce's heel turn + mel's superpower reveal like hold on hold the fuck onnnnnn what does this meannnnnn

gay sex in hextech void deus ex machina goes crazy tho

like oh yeah i am cosmically tied to only one man in this world and he alone can guide me to the error of my ways in any universe

ok!

mel being the most specialest princess in the entire world seems right imo. i can easily be riled up to sycophantic fervor to serve in her army just say the word ma'am 🫡

let's not forget the tragic irony that Mel was exiled by her mother and has tried to carve her own path through diplomacy and peace in defiance but ends up finding herself sitting in her mother's steel ship in her colors with her army with so much power in her veins and now leaves the city she loved that her mother ruined too. mel merdada one of the characters of all time......

and i am a number one sap so!!!!!!! the flashback scenes this season got me hurting real bad. when i thought i was devastated by Remember Me...here comes s2e7 to punch me in the gut

the fact happiness and normalcy was possible for powder...the fact that powder will never use hexcore because of what happened to vi and it made all the difference. vi's death unknowingly protecting her sister (and the world!) from beyond the grave...i am sobbing my eyes out

also as a season one timebomb shipper, thank youuuu arcane writers i didnt expect this at ALLLLLLLLLL???? it was written like everyone knows they were an item except themselves??? i have done nothing to deserve this but thank you

UPDATE: i hv been informed that they are already dating in the alternative universe from background details. even more delicious

i am just happy to be here and prepared to be devastated

vanderco Real. like don't even waste your breath to say they aren't when they look like they are glowing in domestic bliss. what's some light stabbing and drowning between married couples amirite fellas

claggor and mylo!!!! i didn't expect to get emotional seeing them since idrc but seeing them grown up like ohhhh these are vi and jinx's brothers...and they'll never know this life...okay.....

the alternative timeline pretty much put a bandaid to the pain and suffering for the past 2 seasons and as contrast for more suffering. i love it. the writers are so diabolical

heimerdinger sacrificing himself for ekko is ok for me lol idc abt him goodbye cheesepuff

i still need to process the Ambessa vs MelCait fight. im quite sure there's some great parallels there

but Ambessa as a character is sooooo fascinating. while i hv qualms making a prominently Black character be an imperalist warlord (othering her with her accent too), Ambessa i fear is so so very cool and i was slightly rooting for her ngl like i can't hate a cunning ambitious woman it's against my nature!!!!!

i am gonna think abt mel holding up ambessa like repin's painting of ivan the terrible for a longggg time

side note: i love that sevika finally got what silco wanted all along - a seat at the (council)table. like that's my wifeeeeeee. lib ending i know i know since the best ending is a free state of zaun but like narrative wise it would notttt make sense at the point of time. but also since they never confirmed anything, i wanna say they'll have a go at dismantling the power structure that is oppressing zaun with sevika keeping an eye on it. not a perfect solution but i'll take it rather than leave it

so will i watch another show on LoL?

mmmm.......anyways guys watch Penelope of Sparta!

[kat-rose-griffith]

One way that they could’ve approached the Whistledown reveal to Colin that I think would’ve been really interesting is by having him secretly investigate whistledown himself and then accidentally find out it’s Penelope along the way. I think it would’ve been more compelling for his character to see him take a more active and protective role like that in the narrative. So how I see it is when the queen issues her challenge at first, like in the show, he is intrigued but does not care. He is in his love bubble and Penelope asked him not to so he won’t.

The moment he starts investigating it himself is when he notices that it’s all causing Penelope and Eloise stress, even though he doesn’t know the full root of the stress. At first it’s a mild “I want to feel useful and help” kind of interest, but then he really starts to investigate deeper and more urgently when Cressida claims to be whistledown and he can visibly see Penelope and Eloise distressed by it. I would like it if he didn’t really think Cressida was whistledown and continued his investigation to end the charade and/or prevent her from doing harm to his loved ones, but it can happen with or without that. In his investigation he figures that whistledown must have attacked Eloise last season because she was getting close, so he picks up her research where she left off and begins investigating printing shops. He’s closer than ever but he hasn’t let Eloise or Penelope know yet.

Then at the Mondrich’s ball when Cressida releases her announcement cards he overhears her talking to the queen about releasing a real issue tomorrow. He sees Penelope and Eloise run off in a panic, but he thinks that they’re just freaking out about Cressida so he goes into protective mode. He leaves immediately to keep checking printing shops because he figures the right shop will be working on Cressida’s issue right now and the real lady whistledown will know about this announcement and want to get an issue out immediately to protect her name too. We follow him going to the printing shops, he’s narrowed it down to a handful, and we’re getting more and more nervous with each one that he checks. We know what’s coming and we can’t stop it.

He gets to his last stop and he’s kind of down because they’ve all been duds so maybe this was a dead end. He’s walking down that street tunnel and he sees a carriage at the end. It’s too dark to tell much more about it than that it’s just some carriage, but he knows he’s hit something. He walks down the street excited to unmask her and save the day. He hears an Irish accent and sees a hooded figure talking to the printer. He hears the printer say “anything for lady whistledown” and he knows he’s got her. Then she turns around… and it’s Penelope, Pen, his best friend, his future wife. The person he was trying to protect is the person he was trying to protect all of his loved ones from. The realization drops to his stomach and in comes the hurt. Then they have the confrontation fight and everything and the story goes on as it did from there.

I think this would’ve given the tension that the moment was missing for me and it would’ve given Colin a more active role in the story, which I was also craving to get from him. I think it could’ve also added another layer to him feeling embarrassed and insecure when he finds out that it was Penelope, because here he was running around thinking himself such a smart manly man trying to protect her and the entire time it was her he was chasing.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

4, 5, 7, 14

(Okay I really liked these ones fyi)

4. Rank the main 7.

  Ooh tough one. I guess right now, in order of favorite to least favorite, I’d have to go Sodapop, Two-Bit, Steve, Johnny, Ponyboy, Dally, and then finally Darry. But it’s pretty close, and the order changes day by day honestly- I like all of them a lot, y’know? I guess the only one I don’t think about too often is Darry. I still like him and think he’s a really well-written character- I just don’t have a lotta original thoughts about him, is all, whereas I do about all the others. 

5. What are your fave ships?

  In a truly shocking turn of events, I, a frequent draw-er and writer of Stevepop, am going to say Stevepop. I dunno, something about them just makes me happy. Reminds me of like…daydreams I had when I was twelve and crushing on my best friend, and trying to get her attention by doing stupid things and whatever…god I don’t really know how to explain why I like it. Before this fandom I didn’t usually ship things, to be honest. But I guess when I did it’d be stuff like Jesslake in Infinity Train, where it’s the sorta thing that can be seen as platonic or romantic. I reckon Stevepop scratches a similar itch in my brain lol

  But I also really like Marcia x Two-Bit, which I haven’t really talked about here much- They had good chemistry, y’know? I oughta draw something about them sometime

  And then finally there’s my DIY crack-ish ship Soda x Steve x Evie. I like them! It’s all the things I like about Stevepop, plus there’s a cool girl in the mix! I love cool girls! More folks should think about them i think

  I do like other ships okay too- like the Tarry crowd has dragged me in, and sometimes the Jally crowd does too, along with Purly and occasionally Johnnyboy. I’m not an active participant, but when I come across it, I sorta mentally nod and say “nice”, you dig? They’re like…my ship-in-laws. Or like…milk duds and hershey bars- candy I still enjoy, but reach for only after I’m out of milky ways and twizzlers.

7. What are your fave non-romantic relationships? (This can be close friends, familial, enemies or even just acquaintances)

  Two-Bit and Pony! I like them a lot. Their interactions in the book were some of my favorite parts. That line when Two-Bit was worried about Ponyboy using that broken bottle on the Socs…ugh that part was great. I remember reading it for the first time and just sitting there thinking about how much I liked that detail.

  Then on the opposite side of the coin, Steve and Pony lol. I LOVE how Pony doesn’t initially like Dally or Steve, and yet Dally’s chill with Pony…but with Steve the disdain is mutual. Jk I don’t think Steve really hates Pony- but he definitely thinks Pony’s kinda annoying. I like the idea of him watching out for Pony anyways though, like at school especially now that Soda’s not going.

14. Tell us five of your headcanons you basically see as canon

Sodapop has ADHD and maybe (?) dyslexia, but it’s the 60s so he won’t find out till he’s well into adulthood

Marcia gave Two-Bit her real number, and was disappointed when he didn’t call it. I like to imagine they end up remeeting at some point and going out together- even if that’s kinda unrealistic lol

Steve hated Dally when he first rolled into town, because Dally was everything he really wanted to be- tough, cool, and street-smart. And he was also scared of losing Soda, who thought Dally rocked- because Dally’s from New York and rides in rodeos! Eventually they became buddies though when Dally gave Steve a compliment or something. Not even a particularly good one- something like “Hey you ain’t bad at fighting”- just barely enough for Steve to feel like Dally’s earned a little bit of his loyalty. Might write fic/make a comic for this- it’s kinda niche but I think the idea is funny

Steve and Soda secretly listen to the Beach Boys at the DX. They can’t tell anyone because it’s not tuff to like a dumb California band. And Ponyboy would like the Beatles if he listened to them, but he doesn’t, so he won’t realize that until years after Beatlemania has died down

Steve is not just a Ponyboy hater but also a horses-in-general hater. He thinks horses are scary and unpredictable and that cars were invented for a reason. He was secretly relieved when Mr. Curtis stopped Soda from riding rodeos, because seeing Soda on a crazy horse gave him mad anxiety. Pretended he was sad though for Soda’s sake

Thanks so much for asking!! I loved answering these so much lol, definitely let me know your thoughts too on ‘em!

[dailylifeonmadmire]

April 16, 2025

Today was a lot of fun, even if I didn't intend to do much. I'm not sure who this Flick person is, but I'm excited to find out. I started out the day with a trip to the Able Sisters, in their window was a gorgeous dress that I had to try on at least. I also stopped by Resident Services and purchased another plot from Mr. Nook.

Before I left to go island hopping, I thought I could gather some resources to see about crafting more Bunny Day furniture from the recipes I've been picking up. Pinky caught me hitting rocks; it seems everyone here on Madmire wants this K.K. Slider guy to come visit! I also discovered some great little designs for clothing by looking at the eggs I've been picking up. Maybe I'll find enough and make myself a new outfit!

Now let's find a new neighbor!

The first island was such a dud, and nothing really exciting. The peacock that I did see there honestly gave me the creeps, and I didn't think she'd be happy with the other islanders. I mean, Shep is a herding breed, I assume? Who's to say that she wouldn't get chased around by him? The second island, though?

JACKPOT!

There were peach trees as far as the eye could see, just like back in the old country where I came from. I wanted to make as much room in my pockets as I could to take them back to Madmire, and boy was it worth it. I planted a few trees when I got back, and sold the others for a pretty nice profit.

The last island I went to had a very interesting character: Shino, a gorgeous-looking deer. I feel like I remember seeing a creature similar to her in the old country at the zoo. I invited her back home right away, and even did some fishing before heading back to finish up some chores. Did you know that you could catch crayfish on a fishing rod? I had no idea; everyone I knew back in the old country used traps.

My chores back home were pretty simple. I decided to begin construction on a new garden area near the soon-to-be-funded ramp that I still need to save up for. After this, I decided to put aside another piece of land for all the cute things I've made to celebrate Bunny Day. And yes, I did make that outfit! It's so dang cute! After this, I decided to keep up with my aerobic stretching routine. I guess the red lizard I met during this is that Flick fellow that Isabelle mentioned.

When I met up with him post-stretching, I learned a bit more about his methods. He'll not only buy my bugs that I can find around Madmire, but he's an artist. A genuine bug artist! When I talked to him more about it, I thought I'd take the time to get myself a Flick-original. He said that all he needed were three different specimens of the same bug, so I went hunting. I found three ladybugs fairly fast in my flower garden and turned them over. Soon I'll have my own ladybug piece of art!

But I think it'll be it for me today, as it has been a lot of work. I think my night will be just completing tasks in order to have more tickets so I can continue to look for new friends on this lovely little island. Wo do you think will live here next?

[prismaticpichu]

Hi! I hope I'm not disturbing you, I'm sorry if I'm asking too much, so umm can you make Seph Zack, like Seph is trying to craft or build something, Zack is curious, Seph is writing his journal, Seph's memories when he was little, add angst, Zack protective, comfort/hurt, fun, I hope its okay for you. ♥️❤️🤗🫂

Ahhhhh! Not at all, my friendo!! ❤️ I appreciate your asks so much you have no idea lol!! 😂 ✨ Receiving prompts is all a writer can ever ask for!!!

As for this prompt!- wooo boy! That’s a lot of ingredients to add to the pot! Annnnnnnd I think i’ma just gonna be a lazy butt and shamelessly promote some fics that have covered all those points in the past! xD

*ducks chair*

LOOK A PICHU’S DMW CAN ROLL A DUD EVERY NOW AND THEN ehehhehehshshdhdhdhhdhdh

~

“Seph is trying to craft or build something, Zack is curious, fun” ~ I present to you…. my very old fic, On Pins and Needles!!! This little oneshot follows Zack discovering Seph has a little hobby that one may not expect. https://archiveofourown.org/works/39779433

“Seph's memories when he was little, add angst, Zack protective, comfort/hurt” ~ I present to you… my not too old fic, Lightning! This fic here starts with a rather brutal memory of Seph’s childhood, followed by a very loving and tender Zack comforting his friend in the aftermath. https://archiveofourown.org/works/51209863

“Seph is writing in his journal” ~ okie doke, so! I don’t reeallllly have a fic that covers this, but I DO happen to have a random snippet in my WIPs that’s literally called “Sephiroth’s Journal” 🤣🤣 Alright…. CONVENIENT LOL

~

13 September 2023

Frankly, I am not too certain what to write here. And I suppose that already muddies the purpose of why this notebook was given to me. I was instructed to simply journal my "thoughts", whatever they may be, omit everything else in my mind and write my thoughts without thinking at all. He told me I think too much. He also told me I am too stiff when I speak, and I was to try to be as colloquial as possible. "Talk to yourself!" he told me. "Mimic a conversation." I cannot promise that I will be able to adhere to this, but I will try.

I suppose if this was to be a conversation, I would start by introducing myself. My name is Sephiroth. Had I not been my own recipient, I am certain whoever reading this would have heard that name before. It is more... widespread than I would like to admit. But that is my life. "The cards I was dealt" as he would say. Though I do not believe there is any true power dealing these supposed cards, I have long come to accept them. I am not angry. I am not bitter. I am not particularly happy with them; I just play with what I was given. But I digress. I am a SOLDIER First Class, among the highest rank in the military. Please let it be known that I say this without any sense of a arrogance or pretentiousness. I have been fighting all my life, and these are the results of years of ceaseless training. I would rather not talk about that chapter of my life, however. Maybe another day. I think I will choose to focus on the present for the time being.

Such as right now, for instance. Tonight I write from my bedroom desk, a glass of water to my right and a closed computer to my left. I am much accustomed to working on a computer, if I had to be completely truthful . It is where almost all of my work is done. Incidentally, I was planning on resuming my work upon returning to my quarters tonight. But he had gifted me this journal today, and I did not want his kindness to be in vain.

I suppose I should stop referring to the boy as "Him." It is very disrespectful, now that I think about it, how I had not properly included him by now. Him--I said it again, didn't I? My apologies. The him I am referring to, his name is Zack Fair. He is a SOLDIER First Class, just as I. He is also my lieutenant.

Heh. I think I know what to write about. But I will save it for tomorrow; it is getting late. I promised Zack I would be in bed by midnight.

~

Hopefully this is a satisfactory answer lmao!! ❤️ Apologies for my indolence; I think I’ve honestly just been pushing myself a little hard lately, and I can smell the faintest ashes of a burnout spell creeping in.

[darkmaga-returns]

Last evening the self-described “most transparent administration ever” released the JFK files on the National Archives website, except that instead of the 8,000 documents, only 1,000 were actually “declassified.”

The most damning documents were conveniently and unsurprisingly omitted, while many important pages remained redacted; for example:

Perhaps the single most viral page of this truncated declass making all of the social media rounds pertained to a man named Gary Underhill, who performed “special assignments” for the CIA. The day after the assassination Underhill went around blaming the CIA for JFK’s murder, and just six months later he was found dead. Of course, his death was ruled a “suicide,” despite being shot behind the left ear even though he was right-handed.

It comes as little surprise that former CIA Director Pompeo wanted this specific document to be kept secret, except that this document was never secret, because it appeared in an article written by William Turner entitled “The Inquest” and was published way back in 1967 in Ramparts Magazine; to wit:

So, redactions and docs that were in the public domain for decades was what was released by the Trump administration. Perhaps the very same three-letter agencies that did recently refused to release the Epstein pedo files to AG Pam Bondi are continuing to hoodwink Trump & Co. with these JFK docs, and yet during his first term Trump explicitly told Judge Napolitano that despite promising to release the JFK files, what was contained in them was far too incriminating to ever share with the American people.

Or maybe because the same agencies responsible for assassinating JFK almost did the same to Trump, and he decided to finally declass everything?

CIA assassinations certainly do rhyme:

Here is what we know for certain:

Lyndon Johnson and the CIA were 100% behind JFK’s assassination:

Recently, Alex Jones was given secret recordings of LBJ’s partners-in-crime discussing JFK’s assassination, which further corroborates some of the players really behind this premeditated Deep State operation.

And the patsy…

…that was known to be an extremely poor marksman:

Some additional color on the “lone gunman:”

And the irrefutable evidence that Oswald could have never worked alone was purposely left missing in this “declass;” to wit:

And we know that the Bush Senior was also involved in the CIA’s assassination of Kennedy.

Bush Senior “couldn’t recall” where he was during the JFK assassination, although that very day he was in Dallas. For his involvement in this Deep State coup d'état, he was later promoted as CIA Director from 1976-1977 which served as an important milestone in the continuance of the Bush Crime Syndicate’s crime spree. (Bush Senior selected both Clinton and Obama for their respective roles as POTUS.)

Which brings us to the single biggest bombshell of all that was previously covered by this Substack in the following article…

DECENTRALIZED MEDICINE BOMBSHELL: Nazis, Mobsters, The Intelligence Industrial Complex & The "Vaccine" Induced Turbo Cancer Epidemic

2nd Smartest Guy in the World

·

October 31, 2024

Dear readers, a word of caution is in order: this article is going to be an incredibly deep and terrifying descent into the proverbial rabbit hole.

Read full story

…was also deliberately left out of this bogus JFK “declass” dump:

And now prepare to have your minds completely blown:

SMOKING GUN IN JFK FILES CIA tried to coverup the connection between alleged JFK assassin Lee Harvey Oswald and his killer Jack Ruby, who claimed he was injected in prison by a shot of cancer cells, that Oswald just so happened to be working on with the CIA in New Orleans, to assassinate Fidel Castro. On May 6, 1964, Assistant FBI Director Alan Belmont was interviewed, and on page 27 of a 473 page report, he was asked about this connection. Where are the other pages to this report? Was this question ever answered? (Link to document in first comment) We explored this subject in our film Kill Shot and discovered not only was there a completely separate CIA bioweapon program Lee Harvey Oswald was employed in prior to the JFK assassination, but they weaponized SV40 in this project, to cause cancer-on-demand in enemies, and it ended up in the covid-19 vaccinations! Was Jack Ruby indeed killed by this weapon, like he told Dallas Deputy Sheriff Al Maddox? And has this CIA cancer weapon been used other times also? Watch the untold story of Lee Harvey Oswald and Jack Ruby in this video below: Source: https://archives.gov/files/research/jfk/releases/2025/0318/104-10423-10337.pdf Source

Readers of this Substack appreciate just how calculated the addition of the SV40 promotor sequence was to the C19 Modified mRNA poison “vaccines:”

CATASTROPHIC BOMBSHELL: First Ever Definitive Proof That Pfizer's COVID "Vaccine" Integrates Into The Human Genome

2nd Smartest Guy in the World

·

December 6, 2024

The genetic sequence found in Pfizer’s Modified mRNA slow kill bioweapon “vaccine” integrates into the human genome, and now all future “vaccinated” generations are genetically modified, as well as their offspring.

Read full story

From bioweapons deployed against the CIA’s very own assassins to their political targets to the very same bioweapons being used against all Americans during the height of the PSYOP-19 scamdemic, what we may now conclude without a shadow of a doubt is that the entire murderous Intelligence Industrial Complex is utterly out of control and must be splintered into a thousand pieces once and for all.

And just how the COVID-19 operation was a military-grade psyop, so too was JFK’s assassination coverup also one great big psyop; in fact, the term “conspiracy theory” which was weaponized against anyone daring to question the “pandemic” and associated gene altering and spike protein producing “vaccines” was literally invented by the CIA and disseminated by their Mockingbird MSM on the very day they murdered the 35th President of the United States.

Which is precisely why the powers that be will never ever truly declassify their most odious and darkest secrets...

Do NOT comply.

[that1fangirrl]

The Mission

cw: violence(like a lot), gunshots, fire trauma, blind talk, daddy issues and childhood trauma(kinda)...

Matt was having a bit of a hard week. The case he and his partners were working on was making no progress. Everytime they thought they found something new, it was a dud. Every night, it left him plagued with frustration. Not even his favorite cheap beer could soothe him. So he did the next best thing. He grabbed his suit and looked over his city. It was fairly quiet tonight. His ears perked at the sound of some guys in an alley talking. “We’re meeting at 2. If you’re late, you’re dead. You tell anyone about this? You and them, dead. You understand?” The other two nodded. Matt wondered what they were talking about. “It’s a deal over on the docks.” A woman's voice passed through his ears. There weren’t any additional heartbeats in the area. “They have a headquarters near here too. On 45th and 6th.” Matt looks on in confusion. Who the fuck is talking to him? Are they talking to him? “Yes, I’m talking to you. Red suit with the horns. Let’s get a move on please. They’re meeting right now.” Following the voice’s instruction, albeit confused and disturbed, he traveled close behind the group. Just like the voice said, the guys were meeting with a few others on some docks. They had a new shipment of drugs under the guise of medicinal prescriptions.Just what he was looking for. He jumped down, taking the men out one by one. A few guns were fired,but dodged with ease. 

When Matt got home that night, he laid on his couch in confusion again. Who was that lady talking to him? And why was she helping him? His aching body walks over to his bathroom, showering off his thoughts and calling it a night. Luckily, it was a Friday, so he didn’t have to work tomorrow. The next morning, a knock at his door shot him out of bed. He groggily opens the door, half naked and hair a mess. “I’m guessing you aren’t a morning person.” That voice sounded familiar. “Yes, that was me last night. I’m sorry about all of that, but you needed the push. And to make up for it and probably explain a little bit of this to you, I brought coffee and donuts.” You raised your hands up. Matt moves aside, letting you in. He walks back to his room, grabbing a shirt. You slowly walk into the apartment, taking in the area. 

He meets you at the kitchen table, folding his arms. “Now talk.” You sip your drink, “well firstly, my name is y/n Xavier. My father is Charles Xavier or Professor X.” “Like the mutant?” “Yeah. And like my dad, I also am a telepath. I can also see the future. And I've been seeing you in my dreams lately. You’re working on that pharmaceutical case, right?” He nods. “Well. I know you’ve been hitting multiple walls with it. So I thought I’d tell you what I know. Hence why I told you about the new deal the other night.” He stops you, “What do you want in return? Why help me? We don’t even know each other. For all I know, you could be taking the drugs for yourself.” “I’m not, I swear. And you would know if I was lying. I don’t want anything in return. I just want to help you out. I have reason to believe that someone is trying to experiment on mutants with these exact same drugs. Maybe I could go with you on your next patrol.” Matt takes it all in. You weren’t lying about anything that you’ve said. It wouldn’t hurt to try this out. “Fine. When’s the next deal?” “In a few days, but maybe we could go to their headquarters tonight. They usually keep it closed up on the weekends. It’s an old warehouse building. I can meet you there. I have a suit and I know some combat, so don’t worry about any of that.” “Okay.” 

The shipping warehouse was colder than outside. It felt like a huge meat locker. Both you and Matt were looking for just about anything that could help his case. He was on one side of the building and you, the other. No one was guarding the place, surprisingly. It left you a little on edge. At the end of one of the halls, you found an office. Before entering, you put up a hand and listened for what could be behind it. A large desk, chair, lamp, and cabinets filled with files. You slowly open the door, trying not to make a sound. “I found an office over here. I’m gonna check out the files.” You signal to Matt. He nods, continuing to look around for where the drugs might be stored. He finds another room leading to a staircase. Listening for your safe movements first, he creeps down the steps. It’s even colder now. Maybe a basement. He continues to walk around the quiet area. 

In the office, you touch each cabinet to see inside. Nothing has caught your eyes yet. Just old documents about the building. You head to the desk to check its drawers. “Got ya!” You whisper. Previous transactions, patients and orders, just what you were looking for. Unfortunately, you can’t open the drawer. It’s locked. You feel around for a key, hoping one of the goons just left it nearby. “Looking for this?” You snap around. One of the guys from the other night stands in the doorway. You can hear him dangling the keys. He launches at you. Your body moves a second slower, trying to duck under him. His large arms wrap around your body, a hand over your mouth muffles your screams. “Who are you here with?” You shake your head. “No one.” He slams your head into the wall. “Don’t lie! Who else is here?” Tears prick your eyes. You can’t just rat Matt out like that. You could just tell him where the papers are and he can turn them in. “No one. I swear. I came alone.” “Playing dumb, huh? Fine, I’ll play.” He slams your head harder into the wall, successfully knocking you out. 

The door leading to the basement stairs opens, alerting Matt. He quickly hides in one of the darker halls. The guy coming down the stairs seems to be holding something.Your unconscious body. Cursing to himself, he devises a plan. The guy grabs his phone, dialing a number and raising it to his ear. “Bring the others. I found us a new toy to play with.” In one arm, he continues hauling your body around the room and talking on the phone. Two more guys come down the stairs. They each grab something to tie you down with. One with a rope, the other holding you and another with a chair. “She’s a looker. Got a little body on her.” Your body slumps in the chair and is tied down. They stare down at you. “You think she’s one of them?” “Who cares? She should've been minding her business.” The leader looks at the two arguing men, “just get the syringe and let’s hurry up. It’s already enough she got this far.” 

Your eyes blink open slowly.The leader sits across from you. They close just as quickly. “Awww. Rise and shine darlin’. Sleep well? Is the light too bright?” He taunts. You let out a soft groan. “Come on baby. Show me those pretty eyes.” He stands in front of you, forcing your face towards him. “Open them. Now!” You slowly open your eyes. “Just as I thought. How many, huh? Can you see this?” He holds up a few fingers. You stay silent. “Mhhh. Guess not.” A loud bang comes from one of the rooms. He groans loudly, taking out a gun from his pocket and cocking it. “If they can’t do it themselves, I guess I’ll have to handle it. Stay here for me sweets. Try not to move too much.” He walks away, leaving you in the cold room. 

Tears start to fall again. Your dad was right. You’d never be ready for any missions. Having one sense less than others made you weak. You're knocked out of your thoughts at the sound of more banging. This time with gunshots following them. You prayed Matt hadn’t gotten himself shot. You couldn’t even reach him telepathically since that guy bashed your head in so hard. You could barely even think. Your legs start to shuffle on the floor. Those goons tied you up pretty good. You can barely move. Panic starts to settle in as the sounds stop. Your body thrashes in the chair, feeling a presence getting closer. 

“Hey. Hey, It’s just me.” Matt’s familiar calm voice rang in your ears. He sounded farther away, but with his head lightly touching your shoulder, you knew he was by your side. He bends down, cutting the ties from your body. “I didn’t leave you. I’m right here.” Your body drops in the chair, head falling back. Matt listens for your pulse. You’re okay. He picks up your body, making his way out of the warehouse. His other hand digs for his burner phone, calling Claire. “I need your help. Meet at mine.” 

You wake up sprawled on an unfamiliar couch. Panic kicks back in, thinking you're still in the warehouse. You calm back down when you hear Matt softly talking to you. Your eyes roll open, trying to find some form of comfort in the lighting. He caresses your hand with his thumb. “I’m right here. We’re in my apartment again. You’re okay.” Another person’s thoughts scroll past you. “Who else is here? Did you call someone?” He looks in Claire’s direction. “Claire’s a friend. I called her to make sure you were okay. She checked you over. She’s a nurse.” You try to nod your head, but are met with pain. The last thing you remember was that guy smashing your face and waking up in a chair. “You don’t want to move too much. You’ve got a concussion and fractured wrist. And there’s a few bruises on your arms and neck.” You put up a thumb, not wanting to move any more than you have. “Thank you.” Claire nods, packing up her bag. “I left some painkillers on the table. Just take one in the morning and rest your body. You should feel better in about a week. And if your wrist still hurts after that, give me a call.” “Thank you. Have a good night.” She returns a “good night” to you and heads to the door with Matt following behind. He says “thank you” for the hundredth time tonight and closes the door. 

Matt comes to sit in front of the couch. “How are you feeling?” A long sigh comes out. “I’m alive, so I guess I’m doing good. How are you feeling?” He hangs his head down, not knowing what to say. He didn’t want this to happen. Especially because you just met. “It’s not your fault, Matt. I wasn’t paying attention. Just be glad that we both got out alive. Okay?” You reach a hand out to caress his face. He leans into it. “This would’ve happened with or without you there. I just didn’t know how to stop it.” “I still shouldn’t have left you by yourself. He could’ve done worse. I’m so sorry.” You both aren’t gonna get anywhere if you keep apologizing to each other. You know that, so you change the topic off of you. “I was able to find something that could help. There were some documents that show proof of them buying product and using it. Maybe you could get it another day.” He nods. Right now, he just wants you to be okay. He can get the files later. You feel him pull away and stand up. “You should get some rest. I have some clothes you can wear. You can take the bed.” You carefully stand up, “no, I can take the couch. It’s pretty comfy.” Lie. “Don’t try to convince me otherwise. This is your place. You take the bed.” He reluctantly nods before grabbing a shirt, blanket and pillow. You're quietly guided to his bathroom. Behind the closed door, you struggle to undress with your broken hand. A wince or whine leaving your lips every now and then. He wants to help, but knows you probably won’t let him. You lift the shirt over your head with a sigh. For a second, you just stand there in the quiet space of his bathroom. Your thoughts are running wild, but you force them to be quiet until the morning. When you come out, Matt helps you back to the couch and you both call it a night. 

The next morning, a beam of light hitting your eyelids wakes you up. Your head still hurts, but feels a lot better than yesterday. You hear soft noises coming from the kitchen. Matt’s ears perk at the sound of your change in heart rate. “Morning. I grabbed us some breakfast.” You slowly rise from the couch, walking towards him in the kitchen. “I have an island, if you want to sit there. It’s a foot in front of you and the table is to your left.” You nod, taking a seat at the table. “I wasn’t sure what you liked to drink in the morning, so I got you something based on the drink you had last time.” He comes to sit with you at the table, placing the food and drinks on top. You let out a quiet “thank you,” before digging in. Matt also quietly eats his food and tries to start up a conversation. He has been pretty curious about one thing since last night. “I hate to ask, but how long have you been blind?” You hum. He figured it out. “I heard the guys from last night talking about your eyes, but I didn’t think much of it. And then Claire told me you had an off gaze.” You swallow a mouthful of food and clear your throat. “Since I was 12. There was a huge explosion at the manor. I was pretty close to it, trying to tell everyone what I saw before it happened. Unfortunately, I was a bit too late and well… Now I live like this.” It’s heartbreaking to hear someone else has gone through a similar experience as him. Matt reaches to place his hand on yours. Almost like he’s telling you he understands and is there for you. “I’m not as cool as you though. Having heightened senses is a lot more handy than telepathy and clairvoyance in some cases. I can only hear thoughts from about a 10 mile radius. My dad can hear them up to maybe 2 or 3 hundred miles away.” The two of you continue talking for a while, finishing up your food and cleaning up. 

Matt lets you stay with him for longer. Claiming that he just wants to be sure you’re okay before you go back home. You don’t live very far, but the thought of leaving a safe space is harder than one thinks. When he leaves for work, he promises to call and drop by for lunch. But you tell him that you’ll be fine and just the call will do. Later in the afternoon, you start to get a bit antsy. You're woken up by a vision. Matt going back to the warehouse to look for those files. You can’t tell if he needs help or not. So when he finally does get home, you ambush him. “Don’t go out tonight. I already know you’re gonna try to go back to that warehouse. Don’t. Stay here. Please.” He can hear how accelerated your heartbeat is. You physically shake at the thought of him going out tonight. He hugs you close, bringing your head to his chest to hear his calmer heartbeats. His hands run through your hair and down your back in a soothing manner. “I won’t. I’ll stay here. I promise.” He whispers to you. You start to calm down and sink into him more. “How about we grab some dinner tonight. You don’t even have to dress up. We can just wear some of my sweats and go to a diner or something. That sound okay?” You nod against his chest. 

Here you both are, sitting in a booth with the baggiest sweats on and eating your food. The waitress taking your order calls you a cute couple. Neither you or Matt correct her. She mutters to herself how God has a funny way of putting two people alike together. Both you and Matt smile at that. You had been getting a bit closer to one another over the past few days. Everything you did together felt so right. Waking up and having breakfast, waiting for him to come home from work, having dinner, then going to bed. All while still making time to actually talk to each other. Matt was a great companion. He was supportive and understanding of all the things you’ve told him. He never went against his promises to you. You grew another kind of respect and trust for each other. Never did you think you’d be in a place like this again. Having a sense of community with another person. It felt good. You wanted to keep feeling good. And with Matt in the picture, you were going to.

A/N:Real talk this was so hard to write. I didn't really know how I wanted to make this. But I somehow pulled this together. Also cat is out of the bag. The secret about the character was that she's also blind. I thought that would be kinda interesting 🤷🏽‍♀️. I honestly love this character tbh. I might have to do a part 2 of them actually getting together. Let me know if you want that too. I hope you guys enjoyed this. Feedback is always encouraged. K, bye <3

[acacia-may]

Star In A Dark Sky (TDRR Crimsennui Fic)

When a haunted house fails to live up to Ennui and Crimson's expectations, it seems their date night might be ruined, but a game of ring toss might just save the day.

Crimsennui Slice of Life and (Fluffy?) Goths In Love.

Rated G. No warnings only fluff.

A/N: This fic was a gift for @randomsprinkles who has been insisting I post it for the world too, so I finally conceded put it up on AO3. I honestly wasn't planning on cross-posting to Tumblr, but this is for you @repo-net (I hope you enjoy it!)

Also highly recommend checking out the song "Star In A Dark Sky" by BATZZ in the Belfry (Spotify link; YouTube Link) which inspired this fic and provided its title. It's one of the most goth love songs of all time (in my opinion) and definitely makes me think of this pairing.

This story is meant to be read in their monotone, emotionless delivery and shouldn't be taken too seriously. That said, I hope I managed to give this amazing ship some well-deserved fluff.

Link to the fic on AO3 and full fic text below the cut. Thank you so much for reading! 🖤

“That was a let down.” Even though Ennui’s voice was monotone like usual, he saw the way Crimson was blinking at him and knew he was getting emotional. It was hard not to feel disappointed. That haunted house had gotten such good reviews, but it wasn’t scary at all. The blood wasn’t even realistic, and the supposed jump scares were pathetic. The actor playing the deranged chainsaw killer actually screamed when he turned to find Crimson, allegedly, sneaking up behind him, but she was really just standing there.

If Ennui was being honest, it was the best part. Watching Crimson terrify the haunted house employees made a feeling flutter in Ennui’s chest, and he didn’t hate it. Being with her made him feel like a new man—made him feel things, period. It was a strange but not unpleasant sensation. He just wished he could show her a better time than a pathetic, unscary haunted house.

“Sorry. I thought that would be scarier,” he said emotionlessly blinking at her, but when she just blinked back at him, he couldn’t tell if she was disappointed. She was so much less emotional than he was.

“It’s okay,” answered Crimson in her monotone voice. “It’s not your fault that they completely misused their budget and hired bad actors.”

Ennui supposed Crimson had a point. The problem was probably misappropriated funds, unscary actors, and bad writing. Still… “It was the only reason we came here. I would have never brought you to this carnival if I didn’t think we would get scared.” He paused—blinking at the bright, flashing carnival lights. “It’s too bright.”

Crimson nodded in agreement, but she said, “Walking past that petting zoo and watching you get mobbed by cute, fluffy animals was pretty terrifying.”

Ennui’s eyebrow twitched. The emotionless monotony of Crimson’s voice was so comforting. She knew just what to say.

“You would expect a carnival to be a little more creepy, but they really cleaned things up around here,” she continued, and Ennui nodded. He missed the days when the pier was dirty and dingy—filled with old, dilapidated buildings and shady carnies who smelled like cheap box wine and musty cigarettes.

“Things have really gone downhill around here thanks to the new management.”

Crimson nodded in agreement, and they quietly made their way to the exit. “We’re just not carnival people,” she said. “But I guess some of the games are okay.”

The colorful stalls of carnival games Crimson had just mentioned suddenly caught Ennui’s attention. Maybe he could make up for this dud of date by winning her a prize.

“Do you want to stop at one on our way to the exit?”

Crimson blinked. “Okay.”

Ennui and Crimson stopped at one of the carnival stalls for a game of ring toss. When Ennui won, he was so enthused his eyebrows twitched. From the blank stare Crimson was giving him, Ennui could tell she had definitely seen that gross display of emotions. It was embarrassing, but he couldn’t help it. Crimson brought out a very emotional side of him.   

After giving them many confused looks, the barker told Ennui he could pick a prize. Unfortunately, most carnival prizes consisted of brightly colored cotton candy and plushies of fluffy animals. Crimson wouldn’t like anything he got her here.

He let out a heavier breath than usual without even thinking to stop himself. He should have thought of that before.

Just as he was about to give up, he saw a ripped and crumbled plushie of a grey bunny hidden behind the others. It was missing an eye, was covered in dirt stains, and one of its arms was hanging on only by threads. It was perfect.

“I’ll take that one,” he said pointing to it. It took the barker several attempts and multiple directions of “Not that one. The one behind it” before he finally picked up the ripped bunny.

“Are you sure?” he asked in confusion. “This one fell off the truck.”

“Even better.” Ennui could feel the corners of his mouth twitch. It was gross, but he didn’t care. He handed the bunny to Crimson who blinked at it.

“It looks like its been through a woodchipper.” After a long pause, she looked up at him and added, “I love it.”

“I love you,” said Ennui. He paused. He hadn’t been meaning to say that even though he had been thinking it for quite some time.

Crimson merely blinked at him. Her blank expression was more unreadable than ever.

His eyebrows twitched again. Had he ruined their evening? “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make things mushy,” he said monotonously, but Crimson cut him off.  

“It’s okay.” She met his eyes—her deep, serious, and unemotional gaze sparkling like a star in a dark sky. Looking at her now, Ennui couldn’t help but think that even if sunlight was overrated maybe starlight wasn’t. And when she said, “I love you too” in that beautiful monotone way of hers something fluttered in his chest again.

Yes, Crimson made him feel things. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

[thegeminisage]

it IS. star trek update time. i am so behind because my fucking schedule got fucked. wednesday we watched "meridian" and "defiant," thursday we watched "fascination" and "past tense" part i (i know), and last night we caught "past tense" part ii and "life support" even though we were gonna do them in release order and start voyager first.

rip. we couldn't start voyager with like 30 minutes left. it hasn't been the first time we've had to go slightly out of order and it probably won't be the last. anyway, we've officially made it to 1995! 1994 ended with a string of surprisingly mid ds9 episodes, some i might even go so far as to call duds...

meridian:

had the summary of this one ahead of time ("quark attempts to use kira in the holosuite") and was braced for the worst. i was braced for deanna-barclay's-sex toy 2.0. at one point i was like "if they do it in this episode it's worse because they KNOW it's wrong. in tng they acted like they didn't know better."

thankfully they did not do it. the one thing i can say here is that they did not do this to my girl kira. and, you know, she had odo's support! it's always nice to see them together.

actually, the first scene of this episode sent me to fucking mars. first, kira asking odo about food. i've been wondering about this too so i'm glad she did. SECONDLYYY, kira pretending she and odo were lovers and then her calling him sweetheart again even though they were alone. odo looked like he was going to think about that every day for the rest of his life. i gotta say he does "gruff pining man who refuses to admit his feelings" very very well. could ANYONE really deserve kira? no, except someone who looks at her like she's hung the moon every time he think she's not looking back. bareil who. get out of here.

i just can't believe she touched his hand. maybe odo DOESN'T make hands to touch people with maybe he makes hands specifically so major kira can touch them. AAAAAAAGHGHGH

i absolutely HATED quark in this episode. i am trying so so hard to like him and prior to this i'd gotten up to a "slightly more positive than neutral" but we set back a lot of hard work here. maybe i'm the one racist against ferengis, not sisko, but it sure would help me be less racist if quark wasn't trying to put major kira in a holosuite. it was particularly cruel i think to tell her she'd won some kind of prize when "i've never won anything before."

it is kind of fun to watch odo do his kira thing and his quark thing at the same time, like him or not i respect that quark is one of odo's love interests. in one scene he got to be protective of kira WHILE bullying quark so that must have been a good day for him. i wish it had been a good day for me also

i had seen gifs of quark in the nightgown and when i googled "quark in a dress" i got entirely different sets of pics so it was fun to see where this finally came from! it was decent revenge, also, but i feel like quark never suffers any consequences when he actually does cross a line (vs just doing petty crime). like when he was dating that maquis vulcan or whatever it was. it makes it SO hard to like him and i am TRYING SO HARD. i like ds9 so much. i want to like the entire cast.

anyway, the actual plot. jadzia dax...........i am also trying so hard with her but GIRL you are gonna run off with some guy you met two days ago?? he is gonna leave his whole planet and age 60 years without them for a girl he met two days ago?? can y'all calm down???

it's even more damning because it's jadzia especially; she's very young, and if you ignore what i know about season 6 spoilers she would likely still be very much alive AS JADZIA when the planet comes back, but if not she'd still be alive in a new host. if friendships can run multiple lifetimes, why not romances? she could literally wait for him. instead she is gonna throw her whole life away

that said, the two of them WERE incredibly charming. they had great chemistry and jadzia being nervous in the tree because of curzon's tree trauma was extremely cute. i thought julian was a good sport about it too, considering - i was so worried he'd be a freak.

but my FAVORITE part of this episode was dax and sisko saying their goodbyes. they're both really good actors, especially the guy playing sisko, that i welled up even though i knew jadzia wasn't going anywhere and wouldn't have been THAT upset if she was. i love when sisko calls her old man and I LOVE when he loves people. it was such a sweet scene.

also, sisko with the kids was so cute. he's got the dad energy 24/7 and he's such an easygoing guy. i could watch him do anything. play with kids. mess around with his little baseball. yell at admirals. brush his teeth. literally anything. he's so fucking talented he could pull everything off.

ultimately, with a horrible b-plot and an only barely passable a-plot, this ep was a dud, but even ds9's duds are better than tng's mids

defiant:

SPEAKING OF TNG.............

okay wait first i have to comment on kira's little burnout scene. i can't believe she fucking yelled at julian and instead of getting mad he was like ah okay i see you're overworked i'm ordering you to have a day off. HE'S SUCH A GOOD PERSONNNN he makes me crazy i love him so much

i DO think it was a little mean to have quark be kira's babysitter and offer kira a holo program considering. you know. but i assume the episodes were written in isolation of one another

anyway, RIKER?? i always kind of wished riker and deanna could come to ds9 with worf because they were WASTED on tng, but NOT LIKE THIS!!!

he totally tricked me. i didn't pick up that he was shady until kira was showing him around the defiant and even then i thought maybe there was a hostage situation or some alien was controlling him......NO! it was the RANDOM ASS CLONE from a random ass tng episode!!! girl, WHAT??

him peeling off the sideburns was so funny. like, this riker doesn't have those. and at first i was like the difference is so minimal NOBODY would notice but then i couldn't stop looking at his beld little cheeks. horrible.

i love when dax and kira almost had girl talk about fucking riker but then she didn't even fuck him. sad. i mean it would have been under false pretenses which is kinda sketchy (which is probably why they made time to point out they DIDN'T fuck actually, good job ds9 staff), but still. it could have been fun.

i never did figure out why evil riker (sorry for calling him evil but he kidnapped kira my best friend) had beef with o'brien...was he just trying to get him to leave? does he hate everyone who ever worked on a transporter? i forgot the details of that other ep, and i remain mystified.

i love whatever sisko and dukat have going on. they hate each other but they love to flirt with each other. sisko should be allowed to flirt more often ESPECIALLY with men.

kira did a great job sabotaging that fucking ship after only being on board for .5 seconds. you can take the girl out of the warzone but you will never take the warzone out of the girl. they're lucky she didn't have their fucking heads i love her SO MUCH

i was sad about evil riker having to go to a cardassian labor camp...nobody deserves that. maybe vedek winn deserves--no, nobody deserves that. i like that kira promised to get him out, but i checked for spoilers and apparently we don't hear anything else about him until lower decks. which, good for them for providing closure, but i'm still not looking forward to that show.

also like HE WAS RIGHT. this is the second time someone from starfleet has been like "those cardassians are up to some shady shit" and everybody called them crazy BUT THEY WERE RIGHT. the cardassians are always up to something shady!!!

fascination:

i am sighing so deeply.

okay, right off the bat, i was at LEAST relieved jake finally got dumped by his FULLY GROWN ADULT GF. that was maybe the high point of this episode??

lwaxana troi is back. this is the first time we've seen her since i decided no one is allowed to be mean to her anymore. i do maybe perhaps wish she had touched odo a LITTLE less.

very sad when iodo thought he and kira were going on a little holiday date and she was like yeah remember my boyfriend? get out of here!

the bit with julian and obrien talking about how much racquetball they played was pretty good actually. like it was a good set-up to the thing later where julian was like oh buddy i know i said i was getting sick of racquetball before but i am actually down for HOWEVER many games it takes. he's such a good person. kill meee

jake falling for kira first was HORRIBLE. i was starting to wonder if he had an older woman complex. it was starting to get upsetting!!! someone put a stop to this!!!

"the office has changed winn" i don't think it has i think she's still an evil bitter old bitch. actually i got proved right later in fascination. so.

okay, actually, it was a little funny when dax fell for sisko and then he started nervous laughing about it thinking she was joking because this is NOT like fucking twins together and then she was no im dead serious lets fuck and he got out of there like the road runner so he could take her to sickbay. he's a good person too

also when kira and bashir started going at it, mostly because both of them were equally embarrassed/horrified/begging someone to get them apart with a cold water hose. i bet they were like let us NEVER speak of this again

however most of this episode was VERY uncomfortable and unfunny.........like, quark going after KEIKO? gross. i hate him. and, love and light, of COURSE it was lwaxana's fault...she was so toned down in this ep i almost forgot she was there

final note, it was absolutely miserable watching obrien and keiko fight...i want them to be happy! i can't believe they almost got divorced and there wasn't even a spell or anything happening. obrien was NOT at his best here and he's lucky he's good at apologies. in his defense on one point she DID ask him to decide what to do and got mad about his decision...but like, was he wrong? the red dress DOES look fantastic.

past tense parts i & ii:

I WAITED SO LONG FOR THIS............

ok some bg explanation required. ever since seeing this art and this art i became a little obsessed with an aos version of city on the edge of forever where they visit the 90s. the 90s would have about the same level of nostalgia to a modern audience as the 30s did to tos's original audience, right? it's one of those things i always thought about writing but will probably never seriously get around to. but in my mind palace, the aos version would HAVE to be in san fran - the geographical opposite of new york, and also the climate opposite (socal in summer vs nyc in winter). like i have half a plot sketched out in my head, this is a thing i have given SERIOUS thought to - i just don't know much about this era in trek's history

SO WHEN I REALIZED. THEY HAD TIME TRAVELED. which i did as soon as i saw the guns. i was BESIDE MYSELF with joy

and how absolutely fitting that it's 2024 in that show and in real life! i want to rewatch these episodes on august 30th.

also, sorry, if it's august in san fran why are they so cold...we looked up temps and the LOWEST low is 55, which IS chilly, but they were acting like they were freezing to death lol

this episode is ABSOLUTELY the spiritual sequel to city on the edge of forever. back to a dark period in earth history, stranded there, a good person has to die to uphold history, etc etc. it was SO GOOD.

it aged both poorly and fantastically. every time they were like well the deaths of these innocent people made the world pull their shit together...uh, no, we passed that opportunity several school shootings and one pandemic ago. on the other hand, every time they basically turned to the camera and shamed us for letting it get this bad...what was that line, "causing people to suffer because you hate them is really terrible, but causing people to suffer because you don't care is worse." so true the news has numbed us into total apathy at even the most horrific of injustices "they'll remember how to care, in this century" WILL WE?? absolutely spooky and uncanny

references to the internet were really good. we gotta log on to the net. it won't let me in without my ID. ok are you in a republican state??

julian fighting his own internal nature every time he had an opportunity to save someone and couldn't. i was getting nervous even when he gave that woman a chocolate bar to treat her blood sugar. HE'S SUCH A GOOD PERSONNN

wah. sisko bring julian breakfast

i KNEW that guy who jumped in the fight was bell the second he did it. i knew he was gonna die and sisko was gonna have to replace him. absolutely over the moon about it. sorry to bell of course but we don't get nearly enough sisko content. the other characters in these episodes almost felt like afterthoughts, except for dax and julian a little bit.

even dax just spent the whole episode seducing and then radicalizing a capitalist though. which, good for her, but her scenes were SO BORING compared to everything my best friend sisko was doing

i did have a good laugh and kira and obrien landing in various wrong eras though. "i broke my nose" ma'am your hand in marriage

fun surprise of this episode was the really, really annoying mouthy guard also getting radicalized. i didn't see it coming, because he seemed really determined to get himself killed (to the point of sisko having to manhandle him to get him to shut up even a little lol) and i thought he was just there to make sisko's job harder. but then you hit the end and he has this come to jesus moment in real time before your eyes...i don't believe we'll remember how to care on a global level in this century, but THAT i did believe. it was SUCH a fun nice surprise, i really enjoyed that

my only complaint is that i wish they had played up the danger to sisko more - like we all know he can't die, but i wish the characters had worried about it more. i think the implication was that webb didn't have to die here, but someone did, and since it wasn't sisko, it was him? mush as i love kira and o'briens gag, i feel like we could have spent more time on the fact that sisko was willing to die - and leave his own son behind - if it preserved the timeline, and there was a very real danger of that happening. i really like julian staying behind when he didn't have to, and i felt like it was BECAUSE of this specific reason - he was desperate to prevent sisko's death. which he sort of did indirectly do, but i feel like that danger hanging over everyone would have for a more satisfying conclusion

oh wait final note. the fact that sisko read up on the fucking rules of acquisition because quark accused him of being racist a few episodes ago. KING behavior. i absolutely love that

life support:

...because it turns out he WAS racist against ferengi! i had nearly forgotten but jake reminded us that sisko once said ferengi and humans were too different to be friends. damn. tng is always forgetting its own episodes but ds9 remembers stuff that even i forgot

anyway. was this one EVER rough.

first of all, the b-plot of "nog doesn't know how to act around women" does not go well with the a-plot of "kira loses her lover one inch at a time while modern medicine turns him into a zombie in the name of politics"

i think the b-plot was bad because nog and jake's issue isn't "we had a moment of culture clash" it was "nog is treating women like property when they don't want to be treated that way." like, it doesn't matter if that's what ferengi do, he's NOT DATING FERENGI so he can't expect them to ACT like ferengi women. this was not about the ethics of "can we really protest sexism if it's a cultural thing" it was about nog failing to read a social cue. jake wasn't the only angry one, the girls weren't about it either

that said, this would never have happened if jake hadn't tried to ditch his friend for a girl. at least the girl was finally his own age i guess

i do like that he asked odo to fix it though. he was like odo i need you to be SUCH a huge bitch to nog and me for a little while and odo was like say no more sir

a-plot of this episode was somehow even worse. firstly, the OFFICE did NOT change winn. she is still a power-grubbing heartless old bitch, as evidenced by her outright refusing to lie to bareil for his own health when all she did in season 1 and 2 were lie to get her own way. she CHEATED to get this job and now she doesn't wanna fucking do it, she wants to use a dying (zombified) man as her scapegoat and tool. i can't wait until this bitch dies

and look. i never liked bareil. that first sex vision he and kira had in the orb really put me off. it seemed to make her deeply uncomfortable more than flustered-embarrassed the way you'd get if you'd seen your crush naked in the orb, you know? like i thought they were setting him up to be a bad guy. by the time i realized that wasn't the case it was too late. he always just kinda rubbed me the wrong way

but not even bareil deserves this!! me at the beginning of the episode yeah he's going to hell for touching kira in her orb vision me by the end can we please let him die already PLEEEASE please please

julian in this episode was so sad...he wanted to help, and instead he was being forced by literally everyone to use his doctor powers for evil. i think he was relieved near the end when he (and his patient) finally got to be finished with the torture.

kira's scene at the end was amazing, of course. she's already gone through so much and this is just one more shitty thing!!! she's so strong and i wish she didn't have to be. PLEASE treat her really niceys.

i can't say i'm sorry to get done with bareil's scenes, though, since i never liked him much. but i MUCH would have rather winn died instead.

whew!! that was a long one. NEXT TIME.....................we begin voyager. please please please please be good

[proceduralpassion]

Depth Over Distance

Prompt: Day 1 Of Narcoctober - Create a fanwork about a canon character you’ve never written about/used before

Characters: Mika Camarena x Brother!OC (Michael Luna)

CW: language, discussions of grief/death

WC: ~2.2K

A/N: Hiiii friends, my first Mika fic! Credit to @nocturnal-milk-dud for the pic above. Also, if you've read my IWBSS series, you're probably already familiar with my OC Michael Luna, who's actually Mika's older brother. Had so much fun writing their sibling dynamic and a little insight into how Michael winds up in Colombia. Hope you enjoy 💖

“Just the person I wanted to see.” 

“Michael!” Mika exclaimed in both surprise and excitement. It’d been a while since she’d seen her older brother, a steady presence in her life for as long as she could remember. His position as an agent for the Mexico Interpol field office kept him busy, but that wasn’t why he’d been keeping his distance. 

The two of them basked in their hug before taking a seat next to one another and looking out at the baseball practice field. The park may as well have been a second home for her with how often she was here for her oldest son’s practices and games. 

“How’ve you been? Work must be keeping you busy, mano.” 

Michael shrugged, “It’s never not, unfortunately.” 

She hummed in response. They were no strangers to sitting in silence, savoring how the quiet was an easier kind of forgiveness. Their relationship didn’t allow for conflict or discord. It was effortless even at its inception. Maybe it was the decade length of age difference, but Mika and Michael had never been the type of siblings to fight. 

“How’s he doing?” Michael asks, nudging his chin towards his oldest nephew.

“Better. He’s been putting a lot more power behind those swings,” Mika sighs, “I’m glad he has the outlet. He needs it.”

She had planned on taking him out for the season after Kiki’s passing, but he begged for her to keep him in. Now, as she watched him pour every ounce of grief into his swings, she wanted to kick herself for ever thinking of the idea. Somehow, the conscience inside his little body craved for something he hadn’t realized he would need. An outlet. 

Mika chuckles to herself, wishing she had one of those. Some kind of avenue to channel every emotion bouncing in the recesses of her heart and mind. But every second of every day was dedicated to making sure her boys would and could grow up without such a vital figure in their lives. Anything less than 100% was unacceptable to her. 

Michael coming to these games might’ve been the only adult interaction she got these days. Her life had become a precise routine, down to the hour, and she never veered from it, too afraid that the facade of togetherness would shatter with any detour. She clinged to the sense of normalcy and warmth she got from their bleacher seat conversations, even if they were of the most mundane topics. And mundane they were. 

Michael’s way of helping his little sister grieve was to simply not bring it up. She had more than enough people asking if she was alright, he figured. So he didn’t ask. He was patient with her and comforting during those moments when it all felt like too much and she needed a good cry. Otherwise, he carried on as usual. The first practice after Kiki’s funeral, Michael sat down next to her and started talking about some new television show he started watching called Murder, She Wrote and how he confused Angela Lansbury with Agatha Christie. 

It’s the first time she bursts into laughter since she became a widow. She calls him an idiot and explains that they are indeed two different people, though Angela had starred in a film based on Agatha’s novel. Later that week, she watches an episode of Murder, She Wrote so she can discuss the episode with him. 

Another week, he brings polvorones. He notices she’s losing weight and this is his silent way of getting her to recuperate her appetite. She’s never been able to resist the crumbly shortbread sweets and smiles to himself when she takes the bag from him and hogs them all to herself. 

Ever perceptive, she knows the intentions behind the gesture, but doesn’t acknowledge it beyond obnoxiously licking her fingers after finishing them all.

“What if I wanted more?” He jokes.

“Too bad.”

He holds his youngest nephew in his arms as Mika rounds up her oldest, adrenaline-drunk son. He should be dead tired after the lively game under this scorching sun, but his team won and he’s still amped up as they walk back to their cars.

Her youngest babbles in baby talk and Michael indulges by nodding his head, as if actually following along with whatever the infant is trying to convey. 

Mika catches it and remarks, “He could be telling you that he thinks your goatee looks like a ferret on your chin and there you are, nodding and smiling like a doofus.” 

He looks at his nephew, seemingly ignoring his little sister’s comical dig, “What do you think, sobrino? No más polvorones para tu madre, ¿bien?”  

Mika’s eyes widened, “Wait, nevermind. He said that’s a nice shirt you’re wearing today.”

All in all, she’s not sure she’d be keeping it together if not for her big brother. It’s only once a week that she usually sees him, but the other six days are filled with longing. It’s like she crawls desperately every day so that she can get to the day where she finally sees him. 

He’s been less present this past month. Skipping practices and games, leaving vague voicemails on her machine in the aftermath. When she does get to see him, he’s more withdrawn which is saying a lot coming from a man of so few words already. She doesn’t breach the topic. Namely, it’s because she’s got a lot going on as a young widow and mother, but also because Michael’s not the kind of person you cajole or nag on. He’ll come to you when he’s ready but will blow away like a leaf if you push him too hard.

It’s annoying, but again, they’re the kind of siblings who roll their eyes at each other, rather than fully air their grievances and argue. 

“I’ve got a job offer in Medellin, Colombia.” 

When she learns of Kiki’s death, it’s like the noxious feeling that takes over you when you jump out of a plane with no parachute. Your stomach doesn’t drop, but your senses are swiped from you. You can’t see because grief is like the air that blasts into your eyes. You can’t hear because your ears have just been violently assaulted with the worst news of your life. If you touch anything, it’s like you’re grasping nothingness because how else are your hands supposed to act when they know they’ll never touch their lover again? 

When Michael tells Mika he’s leaving, it’s more like a rollercoaster. There is a drop in her stomach. She feels nauseous. Her stomach roils in spirals.

With her husband’s death, it was a long, unidirectional descent that left her fractured in pieces when the news landed on her.

With her brother leaving, it’s like the sudden drops, the highs and lows, and loops of a rollercoaster.

She’s proud because she knows how hard he works at his job.

Loop.

She’s angry because he’s leaving for an entirely different country and that solid mass of reliance that she’s had for the past four months is leaving with him.

Loop.

She’s scared out of her mind because how is she supposed to function now that she’s realized he’s become a crux?

Another fucking loop.

She only nods when she finally digests the news enough to form a response.

But when he follows her home, something he hasn’t done before, she slaps him two steps into stepping into the house.

And then she goes to grab him an ice pack in short order, because shit she didn’t mean to do that even though it kinda felt good. He takes it and they sit on the couch together once the boys are in bed for the night. Michael hasn’t taken the ice pack to his face at all in the couple of hours since she slapped him. Finally, she takes it from his grasp and holds it in the hand that she striked across his face. All this time, it’s been sore and she presses the mostly water but still somewhat chilly pack onto it.

“That shit hurt, didn’t it?”

Mika laughs and laughs until the queasy feeling in her stomach is replaced by aches from the overuse of her accessory muscles in snickering loudly at his comment. She cackles even more as she notes the red hand print forming on his cheek, knowing that it probably hurt as much for him as it did for her. He’s just too fucking prideful and that’ll never change. 

Once her laughter finally leaves the room, Michael heaves a heavy sigh.

“I don’t have to leave for another month. And Christmas isn’t that far away when you think about so… I’ll be home, then.”

Christmas is six months away and she already struggles through the other six days of the week that she doesn't see him.

She could tell him not to go, but to her, that would be admitting weakness and he’s already the one person that doesn’t pity her or treats her with kid gloves. And she is feeling pretty weak right about now, and she knows that he knows it, but it’s different when you have to verbally admit that. 

She also tells him not to go because she knows that he’ll stay. 

When she was six, she watched a horror movie called El Monstruo resucitado even after the warnings from her parents not to. They were out having dinner with friends and only her and Michael were home. He comes out into the living room to see her cowering in the corner at the image of the disfigured creature who possessed the eponymous character. Sure, like any other sixteen year old brother would do, he laughed and teased her for being afraid of some dumb movie, but later that night, his face veers into resolute seriousness when she finally breaks and tearily begs for him to sleep at the foot of her bed so that the monster man doesn’t come to hurt her. 

His back feels like shit the next morning and he still continues teasing her when she gets in trouble from her parents for watching the movie, but she knows then that he would do anything he asked of her. 

She had a will right now, in the present day, not to break no matter how much the rope of her composure bent. And damn, did she want to break. 

But if there was anything else that kept her glued into one piece these days, it was rage. 

Rage at the ones responsible for her husband’s death. Rage at the existence of drug cartels. Rage that they wielded such strong enough power to rot out the heart of entire families. Leaving them in shades of gray and blue from the lack of oxygen and the rush of anguish and despair that came in to replace it from the air. 

The drug trade was as interconnected and intricate as the labyrinth webs that spiders spun. And their touch was just as covert and venomous. There were ties between the Guadalajara cartel and Medellin cartel that necessitated relationships between the law enforcement agencies trying to sever them. A man with Michael’s accomplishment and knowledge was the perfect person needed in Colombia as the cobwebs grew. 

If that led to the takedown of not only the men who murdered her beloved but also all the other scum just like him, then she opined that he absolutely needed to go. 

Michael knows that his little sister will stand on her own two feet and continue carrying herself, carrying her boys forward into this new, harrowing chapter of their lives. He doesn’t doubt for a second that they’ll be okay and he acknowledges as much when he says, “Do me a favor and make an individual tres leche just for me on Christmas. Don’t tell her I said that, but I hate when mamá puts all those mangos in it.”

And because that’s their “thing”, she jokes, “I’ll tell her and put extra mangos when I make it for you.” 

She’s not sure where she goes from here, but she’s got two young boys relying on her and a husband whose demise deserves retribution.

She leans on her brother as they watch an episode of Murder, She Wrote together while night blankets the sky outside. If there’s any source of strength that she can gain from what’s probably their last night of one-on-one bonding, she’s quick to cipher it for all of its worth. 

They’ve said “I love you” to each other maybe a handful of times in their lifetime. They don’t say it now. It doesn’t need to be said. 

She can’t see what the other end of the tunnel looks like. 

The light’s too dim and she’s all alone. But if she closes her eyes and listens closely enough, she can hear him, hear Michael’s voice. 

Where life takes her next, she’s gotta do it alone. But she knows he’ll always be the one to catch her before she falls. The one who protects her from monsters and demons, even the ones taking hold in her head.

Two thousand miles of space between them could never change that.

It was always depth over distance for them.

Click here if you want to be added to my taglist! Taglist: @asirensrage @narcosfandomdiscord

[wifelinkmtg]

you guys i’m starting to think magic story might not be that good

I’m really really happy the Phyrexia essay found its intended audience, and i’m glad it resonated so deeply with so many of you! People have asked me if they can quote it or lift concepts from it, and the answer is yes, absolutely! Please attribute it to me if you do, and if you want to send me whatever you’re using it in I would love to read it, though that’s optional. That’s the first thing.

The second thing is, man, was March of the Machine story a wet dud or what? I try to set my expectations low with official WotC stuff, but I did not have them set anywhere near low enough. Consequently, it’s been difficult to muster the energy lately to do things on this blog because, like, jeez, what an unceremonious and largely consequence-free waste of potential all of that was (except for the Ixalan story. The Ixalan story had everything: amazing kaiju fights [sorry Ikoria] and Magic’s best lesbian couple [sorry Gruulfriends, also congrats Gruulfriends.] “But what about the Ravnica story?” you, an incorrect person, say, “I thought the Ravnica story was really good,” you continue, incorrectly. The Ravnica story was very bad! It had really good ideas in it, but it was exceedingly-poorly written. My most charitable interpretation is that there was a miscommunication, and the author expected there would be a thorough editorial pass, and instead they just published it as-is. Sad! I would have really enjoyed a well-written version of that story. </hater>) But also it’s been difficult to muster enthusiasm to do Magic stuff lately because of WotC’s extracurriculars (increasingly-predatory attempts to more thoroughly monetize D&D, the fucking thing with the fucking Pinkertons.) But today I took an Adderall because it’s one of the rare days I actually have to focus on a task at work, and I’m using the residual focus to post an overdue update here, hello!

And I’m not done with this blog! Far from it. I’m going to keep posting dumb horny card art reviews here, for sure, but here’s some other stuff you can expect to see in the next few months or so:

1. a follow-up to the Phyrexia essay digging into the question of what a “fascist aesthetic” is, what it’s for in fiction, what it means to enjoy things that contain those elements. I think this is a really interesting topic with a lot of depth and hopefully nuance to it, and I really only skirted it in the original essay, and oh man did people have things to say about that (most of them polite). I addressed a similar topic previously on this blog when I talked about the conquistador vampires in Ixalan, but I don’t think I’m satisfied with that post. I think we can also talk about how we engage with a text, and how we engage with a text like Magic: the Gathering specifically. This is a lot to cover, and it may end up getting trimmed down, or I may succumb entirely to the seduction of scope creep. Who can say!

2. an essay on chivalry in its historical contexts, how it’s been used, what purposes it serves in a society (its role, for instance, in sustaining white supremacy in America), and what it means when we encounter it in “sword lesbian” media (the Locked Tomb books, Revolutionary Girl Utena, etc.) This is going to require a great deal of research and I have no idea what my ultimate conclusion will be, but it’s a topic I’m personally very invested in for a whole host of reasons.

3, maybe. I’ve been toying with the idea of writing MtG fic for a while, because they keep wasting potential and I think I could do a better job. If I do, I’ll post it here, but no promises. Fiction isn’t my main genre, and fanfic isn’t something I’ve gotten seriously into before, despite being on tumblr since 2011. But someone needs to do Avacyn justice, so we’ll see.

4. other writing. I’m a lightly-published poet in real life, and I’m currently working on my first chapbook, so maybe I’ll try putting some of it on tumblr, and since this blog’s readership has surpassed my personal, I guess? I’d put it here? Or, possibly, the short horror stories I infrequently write. Again, we’ll see.

5. Obviously I’m going to keep doing the horny Magic card art reviews. I’m not feeling the new stuff right now, but there’s a lot of older sets I haven’t done yet. The Tarkir block is next - and in fact, I think that will be the next post on this blog. I think it’s time we started appreciating Monastery Swiftspear for more than her brutal efficiency in aggro decks, because frankly she’s a snack and this should be acknowledged.

Anyway, thank you all for reading, hit me up if you wanna play some Commander, and I’ll see y’all in the next one!

[samobservessonic]

It’s the last part of “The Big Freeze” and it seems that today’s method of Tails stumbling into saving himself is… wishing Sonic was here! I find it funny that Nutzan Bolt has such a hatred of Sonic, since to my knowledge, they never interacted directly. You’d think he’d hate Tails more for being the one who beat him last time. But maybe all badniks are programmed with this Sonic hate in and it comes out more in some than others

If you had “his ice body melts” on your bingo card last time then congratulations! You now have all the knowledge you need to go forth and write an issue of a kids’ comic focused on an ice villain

If you had “his head becomes a silly little car and drives away” on your bingo card, then you can move up to the advanced whimsy class! This outcome is silly, I like this a lot. To be fair, they did establish this is a thing Nutzan Bolt could do in his last story, I just forgot

For his last move, Nutzan Bolt decides to go down with the ship and dissolves in acid. If you’re wondering how he could possibly get out of this one, then there’s no need! He does not appear again after this issue

In these modern times, Tails having a gizmo that solves the problem is almost a given. But it was a bit less expected back when this comic came out

And so, the day is saved once again, thanks to Tails fumbling a victory that he rightly decides will be more trouble than it’s worth to explain! With that, he leaves the Flock to celebrate their new-found peace in what will also be the last time we see them. So, my theory that Sol might’ve been leading them into a trap was a dud after all. But honestly, that would’ve just stretched this story out further, so I’m glad he just had a straight turn-face heel

The story ends the same way it usually does. I’m not sure who’ll be with Tails in his next appearance that’s being teased by the promo, but I think next issue gives us a new Knuckles solo story, so it might be a little while until we find out

As I said before, this is both the last time we see the Flock and the end of Tails’s adventures as the Zonerunner. According to the wiki, it’s assumed that the Flock disbands later on for a spoilery reason I’m not going to mention and, at the very least, we don’t see them on future trips to the Chemical Plant Zone

I’d been tossing about the idea of doing something of a post-mortem series where I talk about characters after their final appearance in the comic, but I don’t think two story arcs is enough to qualify for that, so I’ll just say my feelings here: Zonerunner and the Flock were all right?

There is absolutely nothing bad in these stories, I just wasn’t that into them. I do like this concept StC has of giving some of the zones significant characters: Mystic Caves has Captain Plunder, Carnival Night has… ugh… the Marxio Bros, Chemical Plant has both Megatox and these guys, etc., - it’s neat! It gives a little extra to visiting these locales! I actually wish some of the various Freedom Fighter groups from Archie had been directly tied to game locations as well. But not all of these characters are going to be hits and these ones didn’t do much for me I’ve talked before about how the early Tails stories have this trend of Tails accidentally being thought of as a hero and winding up on these secret adventures that he can’t explain to Sonic. Back then, I thought the main difference between the Zonerunner stories and the Nameless Zone stories was that one has a sci-fi coat of paint and the other has a high fantasy coat of paint. But I think I’ve figured out why I like the Nameless Zone ones more (and it’s not just because I prefer fantasy to sci-fi): even if both stories are focused on Tails reacting to different events happening to him, the fact that the Nameless Zone is his home zone and he has family there makes it feel more connected to him than the Zonerunner stories are. Here, we’re mostly seeing the fight between the Flock and Nutzan Bolt, with Tails reacting to what’s happening. Heck, most of this Big Freeze arc has been Tails sitting around while Sol and Sab explain their backstories to him! Even when Tails is just saving two random foxcubs in the Nameless Zone, that’s still people from his hometown. Random stuff happening to you hits differently when it's your hometown Which again, isn’t to say that these stories are bad or the Flock is bad. They’re just not ones I’m going to be sad to see the back of. Except for my headcanon that Sab & Sol are StC Lanolin’s parents, that lives rent-free in my head now Also, this is what it’s like in my head all the time: I can’t just say “I don’t vibe with something” and leave it at that. I always have a moment of “Yes, but there must be merits to this thing you don’t like and you’re being unreasonable by not acknowledging them” before spending ages thinking of what they are

[middleearthpixie]

Better Days ~ Chapter Fifteen

Summary: Frerin Durin had the perfect life, until he found out his wife was cheating on him. Now, he’s navigating uncharted territory as an about-to-be divorced single dad. Dating is a mess, he’s dealing with the fallout where his kids are concerned, and really, he would just love a vacation away from all of it. 

Elena Madison is new to Sidleburg, and also navigating life as a newly single parent. The last thing she needed was for her daughter to come down sick, when she hasn’t even had time to unpack the moving boxes, never mind find a pediatrician. And the last thing she ever expected was to meet a man like Dr. Frerin Durin…

Neither Elena nor Frerin were looking for anything, but fate has a way of messing up even the best laid plans. However, both have been hurt and both aren't at all sure they trust themselves, never mind trusting someone else...

Pairings:  Modern!Frerin  x ofc Elena Madison

Characters: Frerin, Elena

Warnings: Oral sex (m/f receiving), protected intercourse

Rating: E, 18+ 

Word Count: 3.9k 

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketchy-loo6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @buckybarnes-thorin @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep @court-jobi @masterofhounds

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

“That was amazing. I had no idea you could cook.” Elena set down her napkin and reached for her wineglass.

“I had to learn. My kids wanted to eat on a regular basis. And I confess, I got the recipe out of the grocery store’s magazine.”

He waited a moment and then, on cue, Elena said, “Your grocery store has its own magazine?”

“It does and that’s where just about all of my recipes come from. Although, not all of them are quite as good as this and some were flat out duds.” He smiled at her across the table. They were in the kitchen, which was far cozier than the formal dining room, and truth be told, all he could think about was getting her back upstairs and back in bed. He still felt the aftershocks of sex with her, and he couldn’t remember the last time that happened. In fact, he wasn't at all sure it ever happened to him. 

“So, what other talents do you have?”

He grinned, arching one eyebrow. “Want to go back upstairs and find out?”

“Do I hear a hint of cockiness in your voice, Dr. Durin?”

He stood up and moved around to where she sat and caught her by the hands to draw her up from her chair. “Maybe. It depends, really. I’m not very good at flirting. I sound like kind of a dick, don’t I?”

“Normally I’d say yes, you did, but,” she told him, a hint of laughter in her voice as she draped her arms about his neck, “I’ve seen you when you weren’t trying to get laid, so I’m not so sure dick is the right word. Still, can I tell you something?”

“Sure.” He let his hands come to rest on her hips. He couldn't help himself. Heat wafted from her body, seeping into his palms, and without thinking, he tightened his fingers against her.

“You don't have to flirt with me now. I’m here, aren’t I? And I wouldn’t be if I wasn't interested.”

A hint of idiocy flashed through him. “Yeah, you have me there. I’m sorry, Elena. I’m… I’m really out of practice. And I know I keep saying that, but I am.”

“It’s okay. So am I.”

He let his hands slip down over her ass, which just fit so perfectly in his palms. Her fingertips brushed along the back of his neck, lightly at first, but then her fingernails dragged across his nape and a shiver rippled along his spine. 

She looked up at him, her eyes soft and dancing with invitation that had him leaning in to capture her lips with his. Her arms tightened about him. She flattened her body against his, and as those perfect firm breasts pressed against his chest, fire ignited his blood to send it south. Tension twisted through him, the heat that filled him spread outward, and the tingles that meant the beginnings of a steely erection spiraled along the same path. 

Her lips parted, her mouth sweet and inviting as her tongue caressed his. Her fingers slid along his neck, up into his hair, where they twisted and tugged to send another tingle along his scalp. He drew her tongue into his mouth to teasingly suck at it, his hands tightening on her at her quick intake of breath. 

He slid a hand up from her hip to the bottom of her sweater, where he eased beneath it and skimmed along her silken skin up to her right breast. She gasped again as he palmed her breast, as he eased it from her bra to feel it bare in his hand. Her nipple was a tight bead already, begging for his attention even as he swirled his thumb about it slowly. 

Her back bowed, that breast pressing deeper into his hand. He caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger to roll, to tug, to stroke. Breaking the kiss, he smile down at her before tugging her sweater up and off once more, and let it fall onto the table, then he unhooked her bra and it joined her sweater.

To put it simply, her breasts were amazing. Just large enough to fit in his hands without any spillover, firm, with dark nipples beading into taut peaks. He bent to her, caught one between his lips. Her soft sigh whispered against him as he swirled his tongue about that hard nub, as he caught it between his teeth to tug ever so gently. A hint of sweet musk rose to tease his nose, utterly heady and powerful. He reached for the snap on her jeans, popped it, slid the zipper down and eased his hand down until he brushed the ebony curls he sought. They were damp already, her arousal silken and hot to slick her flesh and when he slid a finger into her folds, it glided along her. 

“Frerin…” Her whisper came husky and raw to his ears, her fingers twisting harder in his hair. He stroked her, sliding his fingertips one by one over the silky, swollen bead nestled in those damp folds. She shivered with each pass, moaned as he eased the tip of his finger inside her. He slid it back out. He swept his thumb along her clit, slid lazily around it, brushed directly over it. She moved with him, rocking to meet each pass as she whispered, “Oh, holy shit… do that again…”

He teased her clit, pressing down with each slow, teasing rotation and as he plunged that finger back inside her, she rocked hard against his hand, wetter with each caress. The musky scent thickened, his cock responding by straining against his jeans. He tried to ignore it, concentrating on the way she throbbed about his finger, how slick and hot she grew at his touch. She clenched hard about him, squeezed his finger the way she would his cock, each sensual pulse stronger than the last as her orgasm appeared on the horizon. 

He slid his finger free and smiled as he sank to his knees before her, dragging her jeans and thong down as he did. As denim skimmed over her knees, the perfume of her arousal grew thicker, headier, aroused him to the point where he ached to just fuck her. 

But not yet.

Her legs parted as he nuzzled those damp curls and when he dipped to her and let his tongue skim along the heated flesh, her moan echoed through the kitchen. She was hot and sweet, her folds silken with her arousal, and he savored her taste as much he did her scent. He laved over her clit, gentle at first, but as she rolled her hips to meet him, he added a bit more pressure, wasn't quite as concerned with being gentle. He just wanted her to come and he wanted her to come hard. He wanted her fingers to yank on his hair and her body to cream over his tongue.

“Frerin… oh, right—right there, ooooh…”

He teased her with rough flicks, with determined swirls, and then leaned in to close his lips about that swollen, throbbing bead and gave a teasing pull on it. 

She shattered. 

“Frerin!” She came in a furious flash, the sudden gush of musky fluid unexpected but heady and erotic and it was almost enough to make him come without her even touching him. He devoured her then, merciless as he drew out her orgasm, savoring the way she writhed against him, the way she melted over his tongue. She shuddered against him, her legs trembling beneath his hands, her hips thrusting against him as she pleaded and moaned her pleasure in a raw half-whisper/half-moan.

She trembled against him as she went limp, sagging against the table, fighting to catch her breath. He stood and leaned in to kiss her, long and lingeringly, and when he drew back, she whispered, “Holy fuck, that was amazing…”

He grinned. “It felt like it.”

She reached for him then, snagging him by the waistband of his Levi’s and tugged him close once more. As her lips met his, she popped the fly on his jeans and a moment later he shivered as her soft hand closed about his cock to stroke him slowly from base to head. She tugged him free, and offered up a devilish smile as this time, she sank to her knees before him and—

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” He couldn’t hold back his moan as her lips closed about him and she drew him deep. Her tongue slid silkily along the underside of his shaft, around the sensitive ridge of his head. Her mouth tightened about him, pulled gently to send fiery pleasure streaking through him as she tugged his jeans and boxer briefs down and her fingernails swept lightly over his ass cheeks, down the backs of his thighs, which quivered in response as every fiber in his body tensed, He looked down, swallowing an oath at the erotic sight of her dipping to him, pulling back, and then she looked up at him and winked and he buried a hand in her hair, gritting, “Oh, Lena… you are going to make me come, beautiful woman… keep doing ju-just that…”

She smiled around her mouthful of cock, and winked back and then pulled harder to send fresh fire tearing ass through him. Everything in his body tightened from the white-hot pleasure scorching through him. His head spun, his muscles tensed, his balls contracted as his orgasm wound through him like a python, squeezing him until he thought he’d go fucking insane if she didn't make him come. 

He thrust into her mouth, fisting her hair as he did, grunting softly as she swirled her tongue about his head, into the far-too-sensitive flesh around it, underneath it, and he couldn't slow down. His hips snapped back and forth, his rhythm fast and furious as the blinding need for release choked him.

“Lena… oh, holy Christ, Lena, I’m gonna—”

White lights burst before his eyes. He tensed as her lips squeezed him, and then, he moaned low in his throat, utter flaming ecstasy burning through him as he tensed, as he shuddered.

He came in a hard spurt, her name a raspy growl on his lips, bright lights erupting before his eyes as he shuddered again, tensed again, and arched a second time against her. Her fingernails along the backs of his thighs once more had him trembling and a wave of dizziness slammed into him as she slowed and then pulled away from him to kiss her way back up to meet his lips. 

He sank into her, wrapping his arms about her as he whispered, “Holy shit, honey… that… oh fuck me, that was… Christ, I need to sit…”

“So, sit,” she whispered, gently pushing him down into her vacated chair before she drew her jeans and underwear back up. 

The wood was cool against his bare ass, but he didn't care as he tugged her down onto his lap and wrapped his arms about her once more. She melted against him, her lips brushing his ear as she murmured, “I thought I should return the favor.”

“I am so fucking glad you did…” He managed, his eyes closing as the delicious post-orgasm drowsiness set in. He leaned into her, his head coming to rest in the slope of her neck as he waited for it to clear. He couldn’t remember the last time woman gave him oral sex to completion, and couldn't believe he’d forgotten just how fucking good it felt to be brought to orgasm that way. The only thing that would feel better would be fucking skin to skin with her. 

Her fingers slid through his hair, the caresses soothing and gentle. “So am I. You, Dr Durin, are an easy man to please.”

He managed to lift his head and smiled at her. “I like you. That’s really the only thought I can process right now.”

“I know that feeling.” She shifted to face him, leaning in to press her forehead to his. “I like you, too, Frerin.”

He let his fingers trail down along her back, his hands coming to rest on her hips. As his head cleared and the feeling returned to the rest of his body, he said, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Funny.” She tucked a loose dark wave of hair behind her ear and sat back. “Maybe we should clean this mess up.”

“I don't want to move. I really can’t feel my legs. I wasn't kidding when I said it’s been a while.”

“Well, your dry spell—and mine—has come to an end.” She eased off him and grinned as she retrieved her bra and sweater to finish redressing. Then, she moved to the mountain of dishes in the sink and opened the taps.

He watched for a minute, and when he was sure he could trust his still-somewhat wobbly legs, he rose and tugged his jeans back up to his hips and fastened them, then joined her at the sink. 

The room was dark and cozy and Frerin let his eyes close as Elena snuggled up against him, her head tucked against his chest, her arm draped over his hips. SportsCenter played softly on the television, bathing the room in a soft bluish glow. He let his fingers trail along Elena’s thick, dark curls, which were cool and silky to the touch. “What’re you thinking about?”

She trailed her fingertips along his stomach, down to his hip before saying, “I’ve had a really nice time tonight, Frerin.”

“Yeah? Me, too. And I don’t just mean this,” he gestured between them with his free hand, “although it has been amazing.”

She smiled, her eyes glittering in the low light. “Amazing?”

“Oh, yeah. Amazing. Really fucking amazing, actually.”

“I’m glad you think so.” She lifted her head to peer across the room. “I really should be getting home. It’s almost midnight.”

“Why don't you stay?” The words slipped out on their own and for a moment, he inwardly winced. Way to go, jackass. You probably just scared her off.

“Stay?”

“Yeah. Why not? I mean, unless you don’t want to, which I’d understand, of course.”

She smiled at him. “Would you like me to stay?”

Hell, yes!

But he had to play it cool, so he said, “Only if you want to.”

“Frerin.”

“Okay, yes. I’d like it if you did.” The sheets rustled as he shifted to ease over her. “I want to see what you look like in the morning.”

“I’m more troll than woman come sunrise.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He dipped to brush her lips with his, then drew back to add, “You’re fucking gorgeous, Lena.”

“You’re only saying that because I ended your dry spell.”

“Well, that’s true—that you ended it, that is—but I’m saying it because it’s true. I thought so when I came into the room to examine your daughter. And you are, you know.”

“Thank you.” She slid her arms about his waist and it was all he could do to not shiver as she traced her fingernails along his back. Each stroke made his eyelids heavier, and when he kissed her again, her hands came flat against his back and she pulled him against her. 

He rolled carefully, tugging her atop him, his hands skimming along her back, down over the rise of her ass. She broke the kiss to sit back, straddling his hips as she trailed her fingers along his chest, brushing about his nipples to send renewed heat swirling through him. The very sight of her was enough to arouse him, her skin creamy and flawless, her dark hair streaming over her breasts, teasing him with hints and peeks through the ebony strands.

He couldn’t resist, but reached up to trace his fingertip about her left nipple, smiling as it slowly shrank into a tight bead and her eyes grew sleepy and seductive. She caught her full bottom lip between her teeth as he continued tracing that tiny circle, and little by little, he felt a hint of dampness against him. 

With his free hand, he slid into the shadow between her thighs to find her wet already, and his fingers slipped into the silky damp heat, smiling as her breath hitched and her one hand came up to cup her unattended breast. He bit back a groan as she pinched her nipple and slowly rocked against his hand, riding it as she grew wetter still. 

He slipped a finger inside her and stroked, feeling about teasingly for that small spongy swelling along her front wall, smiling as she tightened about his finger and rolled her hips slowly. Her breath hitched. She snagged her bottom lip between her teeth. A soft moan rolled toward him. When he found what he sought, he stroke as gently as he knew how, smiling as she suddenly squeezed him and murmured, “Mmmm…”

Her breath quickened. Her body trembled. She moved faster against him, but before he could push her over the edge, she slid her hand down along her waist, and reached down to gently pull him free, then she whispered, “Hold that thought,” as she lifted his hand to his cock and folded his fingers about himself. “And think of me until I come back.”

Heat flashed through him and he bit back another groan as he tightened his grip on himself and slowly stroked from base to tip, his body tensing as she whispered, “Good boy,” and eased down from the bed to go into the bathroom.

Another stroke and a moan floated to his lips. She hadn’t really even touched him, and he was on the brink of coming already. Everything inside him twisted and tightened as his hand slid up and down faster along his shaft, his pre-cum making each stroke silky and smooth. His breath caught. His body tensed. He teetered on the edge—

“Stop.” She caught his wrist as he was about to go over the edge and he swore softy at the frustration of pent-up, unspent arousal that created a powerful ache that was as delicious as it was maddening. 

“Stop… oh, fuck… Lena…”

“You’ll get what you want,” she purred, leaning over to trace the tip of her tongue along the base of his cock toward the tip. His hips bolted of their own as her mouth closed about him and he twisted a handful of the sheet beneath him as fire ripped though him. 

Then she pulled back, bringing a strangled moan to his lips. Through the haze of fiery arousal and aching need fogging his brain, he heard the soft tear of a condom packet and then let out a hard breath as she pulled free and rolled the condom over his cock. The bed shifted. She straddled him once more.

“Oooh, thank fuck…” His moan almost bounced off the walls and every fiber in his body tightened as he watched his cock slide into her and she seated him fully inside her. A slow, teasing roll of her hips, and his body burst into flames.

She rode him so slowly, he thought he’d lose it entirely, as the sight of her pulling away, and then him slipping back into her was enough to bring him to the edge. She tensed about him, every inch of her silky and hot and delicious and she smiled as he reached to slip hand between them.

He found what he sought, the silken bead of her clit, and worked it slowly, the pad of his finger slipping in a slow circle about it to make her squeeze him tighter. He forced his heavy eyelids to remain open, watching as her breasts undulated with each roll, and she moved faster now as he teased her mercilessly. She grew slick and hot once more, and he wanted to make her squirt again, whispering, “Come for me, beautiful girl…”

“Oh, keep doing that, and I will,” she promised, her hips moving faster. She leaned forward to brace her hands on his chest, riding him faster now, slick and hot and on the very edge with him. He felt it in the way she spasmed about him, pulsing in a delicious rhythm that had him pumping into her as black dots danced before his eyes. She tensed about him, his fingers coated with her climax as she threw her head back and surrendered to the moment, her body pulsing madly about his and squeezing his orgasm free.

He came in a fiery flash, arching hard to go deep as everything inside him turned over and it was his turn to give himself entirely to her. His hands clamped on her thighs, his body surged into hers, and he couldn't hold back his, “Lena!” as he spilled into her. 

“Frerin… oh, God!” Her cry echoed around them and then, as quickly as it happened, she collapsed against him and he caught her easily, cradling her against him as she trembled furiously. 

“Shh… easy, love…” he murmured, her breath hot, hard blasts against the side of his neck. He felt dizzy all over again, not at all sure he wasn't about to pass out as he just held her until she calmed. 

“Oh, my god… that was… I have never felt anything like this… not fucking ever…” she managed to whisper, then brushed the side of his neck with a gentle kiss. 

He smiled into the darkness, tightening his arms about her as he let his eyes close. He couldn't remember the last time he’d felt such peace, such utter, amazing serenity as he felt at that very moment, with this woman in his arms. 

She carefully eased off him and he groaned softly. “I hate this part.”

“I know, but…”

“I know.” He carefully sat up, still not one hundred percent sure he wasn't about to pass out. When he was more confident he could walk, he padded into the bathroom to clean up and when he came back, Elena was stretched out on her stomach, just watching him with a soft smile on her lips.

He came around the far side of the bed and slid in next to her, curving against her as he gently swept her hair away from her neck and leaned over to sweep a kiss along the curve of her shoulder. 

She rolled toward him, snuggling up against him, and tucked her head against his chest. “This was a wonderful Christmas, Frerin.”

“Mmm…” he murmured, tightening his arm about her shoulders. “It really was.”

Her hand came to rest on his stomach, her fingers brushing back and forth, the rhythm making it impossible to keep his eyes open. So, he gave up trying and drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep for the first time in months.