#will this poor child ever have a name? no one knows! least of all me!

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

***FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, mention of mental health (past attempt), more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

We Mend

Days. Days of her moving out of his way. Of her refusing to look at him or acknowledge his presence, even though he was right there next to her. It was enough to drive him insane. He almost preferred her yelling at him. Maybe he had crossed a line. Probably not the best thing to bring up her past struggles with her mental health. He literally could have said anything but that. Yet he’d chosen to go that route. Like a prick.

Noah watched in silence as she brushed right past him, setting her coffee on the counter. Not a word out of her, even to tell him to get out of her way. She just moved past him, like he wasn’t there at all. Jolly cleared his throat, pulling his attention from her.

All of the guys sat at the kitchen table, heads down, pretending to scroll on their phones. He couldn’t blame them. Poor bastards were caught in the middle of his screw up.

“Sure is cold in here,” Jolly grumbled, glancing his way.

Fuck it. If she was going to refuse to speak to him, he was going to make it impossible for her to keep ignoring him. Let the games begin.

Moments before she picked her cup back up he snatched it from her grasp, smirking. Quinn’s eyes narrowed as he brought the cup up to his lips. At least now she was looking at him. Score one point for him. Slowly, dramatically, he took a sip, trying not to wince at how bitter it was. He’d forgotten she liked her coffee strong enough to degrease an engine and black. Jesus. No wonder she complained of her stomach hurting all the time.

“Give me my coffee.” Her voice was low, deadly.

“Mmmm.” He tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Nope. Thanks for the coffee, babe.”

“God. You’re such a fucking child.”

Noah laughed, walking away, cup of engine degreaser in hand. He wasn’t really going to keep it. Quinn was smart enough and knew him well enough to know that. However, he knew her well enough to know that she would follow him, claiming she just wanted her coffee back. When they both knew it was easier to just get a new cup of coffee. They’d been down this road before. However, he’d never snatched her coffee from her before. He was surprised she hadn’t hit him. She could be testy first thing in the morning. This may have actually been a miscalculation on his part.

With a weary sigh he set the coffee on his desk, settling into his computer chair to wait. Either she followed him or she didn’t and was downstairs setting a trap for him. Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long to find out. His bedroom door closed and he turned fully toward her, leaning back in his chair.

“Give me my coffee, Noah.” She sounded just as weary as he felt.

“Come here.” He patted his leg, motioning for her to come sit with him.

“Noah,” she whined. “Just give me my coffee, please. I’m exhausted.”

Definitely a jerk move taking her coffee. Guilt gnawed at him as he finally really looked at her. The dark circles under her eyes. How she stood there, shoulders slumped. She suddenly looked frail standing there in her sweatpants and shirt.

“Come sit,” he urged, holding his hand out to her.

Quinn groaned, acquiescing. Slowly, as though she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to she approached him, perching delicately on his leg. Exhausted but still stubborn as all hell. Noah rolled his eyes before fixing her with a stern look.

“Are you going to actually sit or do I have to do everything for you?”

“I’m tired, Noah. If I get comfortable I might fall asleep.” She yawned, stretching slightly.

“Then fall asleep, Quinn.”

“Too much to do,” she yawned again, relaxing into him.

To say he loved these moments was an understatement. The ones where no matter what was going on, no matter how mad at him she was, she just curled into him, tucking her head against his chest just as she was now. Nine times out of ten this was all it took. No words needed for an apology. Just a simple cuddle. But this time he had to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, burying his face in her hair. Peaches. She always smelled like fucking peaches and he loved it. “I crossed the line the other night.”

“I maybe might have, too. I’m sorry. But don’t take my coffee again. You’re lucky I’m too tired to fight.”

Noah chuckled, wrapping her up in a tight hug. These were the moments worth living for.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @mrscevans @supersquirrel1996

[myersesque]

ok. so. viktor is my favourite character in arcane. i am also physically disabled and hate the Magical Miracle Eugenics Disability Cure trope with a fiery passion. naturally i have a lot of opinions about where his character is going, but for now, here's a relatively simple one:

internalised ableism has always been part of viktor's character. he describes himself as "a poor cripple from the undercity" (yes, quoting how other people speak about him, but still); he shies away from the spotlight even when jayce encourages him; as a child, he directly acknowledges his disability as the reason other children don't associate with him.

i watched a video essay recently ("how arcane writes men" by schnee) that identified viktor's tendency to just suck it up and push through his problems rather than dwelling on them as a stereotypically masculine trait, which he is written to both subvert and lean into. whilst i agree with that to some extent, i think for viktor specifically it's more of an insight into a very common mindset for disabled people to have; a lot of us do not want to be pitied, and understand that acknowledging our hardships will often unfortunately lead to being treated as attention seeking. he doesn't dwell on things because he can't, unless he wants to be looked down on more than he already is; he's already had to fight to even be acknowledged as more than somebody's assistant, or respected as a zaunite living and working in piltover. i can't imagine he's keen to show any further "weakness"; he only ever cries when he's alone. it makes sense that he'd want to save himself rather than relying on anybody else.

the dangerous thought process of "fixing" people with the hexcore begins with that desire to save himself. at first he's just trying to stop his illness from killing him, but then he progresses to carving runes into his leg, seemingly in the interest of fixing his limp - which works, albeit temporarily. he seems aware enough of the implications of what he's doing to be somewhat ashamed of it (or, at the very least, enough to hide it from jayce). i've seen a lot of (mostly able bodied) people interpret the scene of him running down the pier as victorious, but it always felt bittersweet and scary to me; the dark, painful fantasy of "fixing" the thing the world has always looked down on you for, and the unsettling knowledge that you were never supposed to exist that way. a man experiencing a moment of joy only when he has detached himself from a core aspect of his being; self hatred disguised as progress. he only seems to register the horror of what he's doing when it kills sky.

it's not a leap to say that, with the hexcore dulling his emotions and blurring the lines of his ethical code, he would turn this externally. self loathing so insidious that he mistakes it for kindness and mercy and points the blade of it at the people he swore he'd help. before merging with the hexcore, he was desperate to destroy it and rid himself of its influence, hindered only by his physical inability to do so; under its control, he's seemingly lost all those inhibitions, wiped clean of his understanding of its danger. no longer "clouded by emotion", no longer human enough to know better, no longer suspicious of the arcane.

what viktor becomes in season 2 is, i believe, a hellish mix of his own internalised ableism and the hexcore's desperation to spread and survive. his genuine desire to help people has been warped into stripping people of their individualism, forcing them into some predetermined ideal in the name of healing (very "the empty child" from doctor who). it's his own character flaws mixed with the inhuman apathy of the hexcore. the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and also dressed up so nicely that you don't even realise you're headed downwards.

this is not what viktor stood for, but rather a perversion of his own insecurities, with a fresh coat of hexcore paint to stop him (or his followers) from scrutinising it too closely. they took the guy who dedicated his life to bettering humanity, and warped him into something doomed to destroy it.

(or something like that. idk. i haven't slept.)

[2rats1gogh]

I’ve never really seen anyone talking about this, but I noticed that one of the main reasons why I am team green is because team green feels like an actual team that is in this whole thing together.

Team Green feels connected, united, like a family.

Team Black on the other hand is… meh.

And let me explain why:

Rhaenyra being delusional and thinking that Daemon is actually in love with her when he literally just groomed her since she was a child because he has always been after her title and now wants to be her king consort. They have one of the most toxic, creepy and problematic relationships in the entire fucking show.

Then there is the very awkward and uncomfortable moment of Rhaenyra and Daemon having sex on Laena’s funeral, while Rhaenys, Corlys, Baela, Rhaena and Laenor are mourning the loss of their daughter, mother and sister. How fucking disrespectful is this. And then the fact that they have Laenor “killed” just so they can get married and have their own perfectly blonde targaryen babies.

And Rhaenyra lying about Jace, Luke and Joff to everyone in her very own “team”, trying to gaslight not only Corlys, and Rhaenys but also her own sons into thinking they are trueborn, when even Jace himself. as a child, starts asking questions.

Then there are obviously Rhaenys and Corlys, who for some fucking reason neglected their trueborn granddaughters in favor of some dark haired white bastards their daughter-in-law is trying to pass off as their son’s children. Rhaenys is trying sooo hard to please her misogynistic husband because he so desperately wants his name to go down in history. Then the disrespectful betrothal of Jace and Luke to Baela and Rhaena. Rhaenyra is literally robbing these poor girls of their rightful claim to Driftmark and usurping them. And now, with Luke being dead, Rhaena’s claim dies with him.

Baela and Rhaena losing their mother, and now their father suddenly remarries, and has two blonde boys. Rhaenys losing BOTH her children and then seeing her son-in-law and daughter-in-law getting married soon after that.

Everyone in team black is after their own ambitions. They lie to each other, they don’t trust each other, they suspect each other in different things, they cheat on each other (with each other) and lie about it, they give each other forced ultimatums, and yada yada. All their scenes feel forced, tense, awkward and uncomfortable. They look so miserable with each other.

Team Green in this sense is the exact opposite.

Although their dynamic is far from perfect, obviously, you cannot deny that they care about each other very very deeply.

Alicent loves all of her children, and even while acknowledging their flaws, she still loves them.

Aemond might’ve been a little envious of Aegon, but he would never turn his back on him. He would never betray his brother, be would never try to take his crown from him.

Aegon was far from being a perfect man and king, but, as we know, it was his love for his family, and the fear of them getting hurt that made him a more responsible person and a more protective father, husband and brother. Sure, he is a cheater, but at least he’s honest about it and doesn’t lie to his wife. He is not a hypocrite.

Criston is working for Alicent not for ambition or for self-gain, but because he genuinely loves her, whether it’s romantic or platonic, doesn’t matter.

Helaena would never betray her family, her brothers, her mother. They are all she has. She would never switch sides even if given an opportunity.

And even Otto, arguably one of the main villains of the whole show, still loves his family. Sure, he is ambitious, but he would never become Corlys level of ambitious.

Team Green feels like they are fighting against the enemy all together, they have the same goals, they feel united and you can feel their devotion to each other. Especially after blood and cheese, when they become closer than ever. They’re in this together and only if they stick to each other, they can make it. It feels genuine and honest. They don’t hide anything from each other, they always have their loved ones’ best interests at heart, they would never in a million years betray each other. Yes, they are all doomed from the start, but their dedication and love to each other is truly something else.

[copinghex]

Blood hands | T.S

Summary: After killing someone for the first time, Tommy's wife has to deal with the emotional consequences of it. Luckily, he's there to look after her.

She was terrible in biology, never got more than a B, it didn't matter how hard she studied. Every exam period she went to the tiny, dusty Birmingham's library and took notes from the anatomy books. Nothing ever changed.

Analyzing the drawings, she tried to make sense out of them, the muscles, joints and bones, wrapped together in the masterwork of the human body. It just didn't make sense to her, the subject simply wouldn't get into her brain and honestly, it disgusted her too. She had no wish to see beneath someone's skin, aware the reality was much more bloodier and morbid than the books.

Less than ten years later, she did, but unlike she imagined, the bile didn't rise to her throat expressing the deep disgust. Her eyes opened widely, unable to move from the mess of what once must've been a beautiful body.

The curly golden locks hid the agent's frightened looks, gladly, because the murderer in the train station wouldn't bear to face the lack of life in her blue eyes. 

Blood ran down her nose, her hands shook and her left eye stung. The woman who a few ago held her in disadvantage, sticking a sharp nail into her orb, was reduced to nothing by the train's velocity. A push was all it took.

Then, her trance was interrupted by the sound of steps, she ran away like a child avoiding punishment, not many people dared to fuck with a gangster's fiancée, but the ones who did certainly would make her look much worse in the train tracks.

As she headed home, carrying her heels in hand so she could walk faster, another haunting thought crept into her mind, Tommy, the reason why she had blood in her hands. She was sure he'd be dead when she got home, with a bullet Billy Kimber would've put in his brain.

For a moment she considered not going anywhere, simply sitting down on someone's pavement so she wouldn't have to deal with anything. 

If she only could, she'd ask God to allow her man to be alive when she got home, she couldn't, asking Him to save a man like Tommy felt like blasphemy or a joke of poor taste. There was no salvation for the Small Heath's devil, at least not from divine sources.

Swallowing the bitter taste of uncertainty, she walked home with a heavy heart. However, much for her surprise, Tommy stood at the front door, his eyes slightly widened at her awful state. Her throat burnt with the urge to cry as she dropped her heels and wrapped her arms around him, he winced in pain from the bullet hole in his chest, nevertheless, allowed her to hold him.

His name poured from her lips in quiet, relieved whispers. His attentive eyes were quick to capture every irregularity in her figure, bruised knuckles, teary eyes and bare foot. He had never seen her so broken.

"I was coming to pick you up," he explained, "what happened? Where were you?" 

Lifting her head from his shoulder, her still shaky hands hesitated in cupping his cheeks, resting on his shoulders instead. She negatively nodded and peeked at the wound under his coat.

"You're alive, that's all that matters," 

"What happened to you?" he insisted.

"Tommy, please," she breathed out, caressing the length of his arms, "not now, not fucking now," 

His jaw tightened as he fought the urge of arguing, he hated to have things hidden from him, but knowing he'd eventually find out anyway, he obliged to her wish.

Gently, his thumb met the eyelid of her wounded eye, "That's fucking bad," 

"I'll go to the pharmacy tomorrow, they'll give me something to get it better," she drawled, "now, tell me what happened," 

"...Danny whizz-bang is dead," was all Tommy deemed as relevant, guilt weighted heavily on the sergeant's voice, he was responsible for his soldiers' safety and he had failed Danny badly.

"Oh, darling," she muttered, "I'm so sorry," 

Looking away from her merciful eyes, he slightly nodded. Reaching for a cigarette from his silvery pack before saying, "We're at the Garrison now," 

"I'm not up for it, you can go back if you want," with a quick brush on his cheek, she entered home and in a quick decision, Tommy followed after, "I'll take a bath, then take a look at your bandages, who took the bullet out?" 

"Jeremiah," he drawled.

She nodded, glad someone gentle as the preacher looked after her husband when she wasn't able to. Heading to the bathroom, she only hoped the hot water would wash away the weight on her shoulders.

-

Rubbing her hands together, she watched the quiet street through the window, every now and then a lonely citizen walked past and this was all keeping her from dissociating.

The bath wasn't of great help, the relaxation it brought also lowered the adrenaline, making her muscles and wounds ache. A knot tightened on her throat as she tried to convince herself everything was fine. Everything was fine, Tommy was alive, no one was after them anymore, nothing else mattered, nothing.

The door suddenly opened, making her jump. Tommy entered the bedroom with a towel on his shoulder, his bare torso was still wet from his bath and he moved slowly, careful to not get his injury bleeding.

Attentively, she noticed his mind was far away from there, a pout decorated his lips and his brow was tense. Eager to sooth his worries, she whistled the stereotypical catcalling sound. 

"Hello, handsome," she weakly smiled.

Lifting his eyes, a nearly nonexistent smile crept into his face, "Quit that," 

She walked to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, "Do you come here often?" 

"In my bedroom?" he chuckled, "Yeah, quite often," 

She took advantage of his momentarily good humor to take a look at his wound. Before she could avoid it her eyes got filled with tears, she had nearly lost him today, not all the killing she was able to commit would've brought him back if she'd done so, he'd be gone, simple as that.

"D'you want to tell me what happened now?" Tommy cupped her face, trying to distract her.

"...I love you, Tom," was all she was able to mutter.

"I know, and I love you," 

Slightly nodding, she sighed, "What now?" 

"Well, I-" he hesitated, "I thought of opening a club in London," 

"About Danny," she sat at the end of the bed, "what about his family?" 

"We'll help them, financially," Tommy explained.

"Get his children a job?" 

"No, no more business for the Owens," he sighed, "they'll be normal, his children will never know why he died," 

Hearing his words, her throat tightened, a heavy feeling settled in her chest. Did the woman she killed had children? When she first got into the Garrison Tommy found out she did, but that was before they ever suspected she was a copper, how much of everything she said was lies? How would her child react to knowing its mother was dead on train tracks? 

Tommy watched his fiancée's state with pity in his eyes, he hated her stubbornness at the same time he was well aware of how much they were alike. Both closed off before trouble, hating to burden the other with issues they deemed personal. 

"You know, eventually you'll have to tell me what happened,"

Her watery eyes met his and she pulled him to stand between her legs, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on the soft skin of his stomach.

Gently, he petted her hair away from her face and his rough fingers on her face brought some relief, still, she felt like a wounded beast. A wounded beast is still a beast and she'd forever be a murderer regardless of Tommy's acceptance.

"Tell me, eh?" he whispered.

"Tommy, I-" before she could answer, three knocks on the door interrupted.

Arthur entered the bedroom with a worried expression, "Tommy, hm, I just wanted to tell you we found the body of that barmaid in the train tracks, Johnny Dogs wants to know if he should get rid of it," 

She froze, eyes widened at the news, she was so deep into her own guilt she didn't even think about the further consequences.

Tommy switched a look between her and his brother, with a slight nod, he ordered, "Get rid of it," 

Small Heath had another murderer to call resident, there was no way of hiding it now.

[violetashfall]

Clumsy Boy.

Where Carl is a wreck...

┊ ➶ ｡˚

!basically fem reader (No physical disc) - 3rd person!

Pretend Warnings;

Cringey

Carl is a complete loser in this !!

Got some notes at the end of the fic, just me complaining...

Carl Grimes had gotten significantly more uncoordinated after he lost his eye… his depth perception was not what it once was, and paired with the headaches and brain fog, his clumsiness only got worse.

He took offence to the way his eye deceived him, looking so insulted whenever a water bottle hit his lips before he could part them, how forks kept knocking against his teeth when he tried to take in food.

One person who always witnessed his struggles was [name], she couldn’t help but notice his stumbles and the empty grasps he made whenever he missed whatever he wanted to hold.

His clumsiness was ever-present in how close he got to her while talking and walking, always finding himself a few many steps too close. He tried to make it seem casual, he totally meant to stand foot-to-foot with her–He didn’t even notice when the rim of his sheriff’s hat hit against her head–and when he took those very slow steps back, they were so inconspicuous he might as well have been a ninja…

But of course, Carl was lying to himself, he looked like Bambi learning to walk on ice whenever he was with the poor girl who kept falling victim to his wobbly brain.

But [name] found it sweet – Carl looked so flustered when he accidentally wavered too close, how his lanky arm bumped into hers when they walked… his coordination skills only got worse when the sun came out, blinding his only good eye and making his foggy brain ache further.

It was how he ended up in such an awkward situation: He hated ladders with a burning passion now his mind was constantly dizzying. He had to climb one at the lookout post during the summer day, clinging close to the rung bars - focusing on not getting too woozy. [name] stood at the top, looking over Alexandria with her hand extended for him to take - the one he missed as he clambered to the top with the fear of a tiny puppy - for such a strong boy, he was acting like a kid terrified of heights, throwing himself into the lookout with zero grace and little self-preservation left.

[name] couldn’t dodge him quick enough when Carl tumbled into her, the crown of his head harshly knocking into her chin - making [name] freeze as the force drove her to bite her tongue. When Carl felt the clunk on the top of his head it was already too late, eye-level with [name] once his legs were fully straightened, already taking a tripped step forward and already hanging off her to stop his fall. Their noses hit each other and worst of all, their lips ungainly brushing together.

[name] pushed herself back and forced him upright in a split second, hearing his thick boots thudding against the floor as he stabilised himself. [name] fell backwards raggedly, tripping on her shoelace - his clumsiness was infectious apparently. Not only did [name] feel her sore teeth and hammering chin, but her lips were also buzzing like his had zapped an electric current through them. Her nose wrinkled at him, pure perplexity taking her face as she stared–

“Jesus, Carl!” She exclaimed like a bruised child, She was a bruised child; tasting that pinprick of blood that pipped out her bitten tongue, knowing she’d get a purple mark on her chin from his thick skull colliding with it. The one day he didn’t wear that stupid sheriff's hat… at least it'd cushion the blow.

Carl looked down at her, eye shot open and brain paused in a deep drowning feeling of mortification… and an upcoming migraine. “I’msorry–” His words spilt so fast they were incoherent, hands extended yet frozen by his sides - he had practically just attacked her–Thrown himself at her like she was a lake and he needed to hide from the wasps swarming his head–and it didn’t even work! His brain burned, lit ablaze by the thoughts in his head telling him he was an idiot, asking himself why it was always her.

“You sneeze on me yesterday and now break my jaw?” She whined dramatically, grumbling and pouty, cupping her chin and instinctively touching her lips. She gawped at Carl who's face was burning scarlet - not only had he been weird with her for months, hindering his progress with her at every turn by stepping on her toes or stabbing her with his fingernails when trying to hold her hand–something he was so embarrassed by he was timid to try again, especially after she began figuring out what his murderer name would be after he finally killed her–He had also just ruined his chances further by attacking her with his gracelessness.

“--I didn’t mean to,” Carl cringed at himself, heart pounding in his chest as he kept inwardly begging for the world to swallow him up right there, partly wanting to glare at her for bringing up when he sneezed on her - he had begged her to forget about it, he just wanted her to think he was cool. “Both times,” He muttered, “Any of the time–All of it.” He spilt, moving towards her with stumbled steps and fumbling arms. He tried to help her up - thanking god he at least held her hand with more ease this time.

He couldn't believe himself, he wasn’t awkward, he was outspoken and smart - but Jesus, he did not act like it... especially now, staring at her apologetically with a tight grasp on her upper arm as if she would flee if he let go, but in reality, it was to stop himself from falling to his face without her support, he felt dizzy.

“You’re fine,” [name] said, side-eyeing him as he helped her stand, feeling his hands shake against her. She usually found his clumsiness endearing, but she was startled this time, so much to process about that split second interaction. One thing [name] could tell was how by that tiny grimace on his face - one clouded by the most dorky, cringed, expression ever - that he was at the start of a migraine, and so was she if the pain in her chin radiated any further through her skull.

She started hoping their mistaken kiss would turn him into… well, just a Carl who didn’t keep colliding into her… but he wasn't a frog, and she was no princess, she scowled too much for it.

"You are fine? Right?" She asked, brows furrowing as she inspected his expression, seeing his jaw tight and eye squinted. "Just, Just a headache." He said, shaking his head and diverting his face further, not exactly wanting to look into her eyes when he was so mortified.

[name] huffed, Carl was back to his normal stubborn denial now, just with some extra embarrassment - he knew damn well she was about to tell him to take his painkillers, he'd give her that look as if to say 'Don't baby me' - he wasn't a child who needed to be reminded… but he couldn't bring himself to look at her after that colossal fumble, still flushed and awkward from basically kissing her. "I'm fine." He repeated, voice holding tenseness, something about how [name] stood quiet for a few seconds too long made him know she'd be teasing him soon enough for the massive blunder... he just wanted to get over it... and maybe smirk and kick his feet while thinking about how her lips briefly felt against his.

"...Why are you smiling?" [name's] brows furrowed further, watching Carl who held an expression mixed with pain, mortification and somehow cheekiness... his mind somewhere else for a moment.

Carl's eye widened when she called him out, looking at her as his tiny, dopey smile fell and got replaced with blabbering lips, "Shutup." He grumbled - getting ripped away from his lovey thoughts - about to let her hand go, yet he couldn't bring himself to, palm stuck to hers like glue, wanting to hold it too much to let it go.

(A/N) I hate writing in 1st / 2nd perspective so I just didn't... the use of [name] is pretty robotic but, hey... I have no defence. I kinda wanted to make this a 'neutral pronoun' fic but got pissy that my WiFi wasn't working so I didn't...

I just wanted to try writing fanfiction.. This was supposed to be a bot, and probably will still be. I didn't capture his character because I made him a dorky whump - I was in a silly mood!!

So yeah, first fanfiction, I felt like a completely stereotypical teenage girl writing this and I don't mind it.

[tommycorriander]

Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, And Disability

I am disabled. This is something I've talked about a handful of times on this blog and on my Twitter, and anyone who knows me knows I am a disabled man. As a result, while I do enjoy dissecting media and politics, the need to be an advocate for disability issues would have fallen on me to some extent regardless. Disabled folks are often left out of conversations regarding diversity in media, in a continued oversight from able bodied peers.

What does this have to do with the Hellaverse?

Both shows contain at least some small amount of disability representation; specifically, they both have characters that are physically disabled. In Hazbin Hotel this is Vaggie, as she is missing an eye and prior to the finale had lost her wings. In Helluva Boss, the characters would be Fizzarolli, a quad amputee, and the unnamed deaf child in the special. The only character I ever see talked about in regards to their disability by the wider fanbase is the unnamed child, and on a smaller scale in critical spaces I occasionally see remarks on Fizzarolli's disability.

This is a problem.

For as much as fans of one or both shows would love to claim diversity in their shows, the lack of disability representation and the lackluster portrayal of the minimal representation is poor. And I haven't seen any of my fellow critics discuss this, which I feel is an oversight, though I don't fault them for this as there are many problems with both shows and they tend to have their hands full. However, this angle of viewing the shows has been overlooked, which is why I wish to discuss it today.

Firstly, I'd like to specify what I mean when I discuss disability. While the conversation regarding the Hellaverse is primarily centered around physical disability as this is the only form of disability portrayed in the shows, coded or otherwise, disability comes in many different forms. Intellectual disabilities and mental disabilities are just as important for representation in the media as physical disabilities. Among physical disabilities, there's also a difference in visible and invisible disabilities, the latter of which is hardly ever shown in media compared to the former. Ideally all forms of disability would be portrayed equally and with respect, but unfortunately this isn't the case. I also don't expect every show to tackle every demographic at once; this isn't a reasonable request, and to be very clear, my issue with the representation in HH/HB does not come from every single unique experience with disability not being covered, but rather with the narrative the creatives behind the show and the show's fans continue to push: that both shows are diverse and are, in some way, more progressive than other shows.

This isn't the case for many reasons. Fellow critics have gone into depth about the show's lack of representation of women in nuanced roles, the lack of queer women, the racist ways in which the very few characters of colour are presented, the lack of trans representation, and even the way sex and sexuality is presented being rather conservative at times. That isn't the focus of this essay, but I would implore anyone who is reading this who is somehow unaware of the previous issues to seek out essays that talk about those points; Cassidy Whiskey on YouTube has a three-part series that covers a multitude of topics, not just issues of representation, and I would have recommended helluvareceipts on Twitter, but her account has sadly been deactivated. I'm sure there are others, but I'll lose focus if I try to name every single person to go to. If you're willing to trawl through general pettiness in the critical tag (which, let's be real, that is probably how you found this post) you'll find well-worded critiques as well.

Back to the topic at hand. The lack of representation of people with disabilities is already frustrating, but there isn't a complete drought: Vaggie, Fizzarolli, and the unnamed imp child do exist, after all. However, their representation is not just flawed, but even exploitative in some ways.

First we have Vaggie. Aside from the visual of her missing eye and seeing the incident in which she lost that eye, nothing comes of it. She never has to contend with the difficulties that come with impaired sight, and it's never brought up by other characters. In the training scene between her and Carmilla, it's not a factor: instead, her greater flaw in the physical realm when it comes to combat is having longer hair. This is an extreme oversight, which I believe shows that Vivienne and the various writers for the show never actually take into consideration what should be a major element of a character, that being her impaired vision. Furthermore, the loss of her wings isn't even considered at all, with her somehow gaining them back at the end of her training montage with Carmilla. This could have been an excellent vector to discuss physical disability in a coded form, with her wings being a stand in for more traditional forms of limb loss. Still not ideal, as I believe it's better to have forthright depictions of disability over metaphors, but it would have been something. Instead, it's never a factor, and worse, it's effectively cured. As far as representation goes, Vaggie might as well not even count.

That's all that exists for Hazbin Hotel. In Helluva Boss, we have two characters, and I will save the unnamed child for last, because that is where the real issue with the representation is on full display.

So, Fizzarolli. He is a quad amputee and potentially hearing impaired, though the latter is speculated on due to a single scene which I discuss later. Since that scene is the only time it ever comes up, I will focus on his amputee status. He lost his limbs in a fire, something we see on screen. I will disagree with some of my fellow critics in that this scene should have been more detailed; I feel that had the scene shown more of the damage dealt to Fizz's body it would have come across in poor taste, and focusing on the tragic aspect of disability usually ends up feeling like trauma porn in the hands of poor writers, which Vivienne most certainly is. I do not trust her to handle a more detailed scene with grace, especially given her track record (more on that later). It is ultimately for the best that the scene is mostly brushed over, even if it would have been better in the hands of someone with the maturity and sensitivity to cover such a topic for more to be shown in regards to his injuries.

Otherwise, Fizzarolli is mostly fine. He's shown not just surviving but thriving, he has a loving partner (criticisms of the portrayal of said relationship not withstanding) and generally sees success in his life while still having to grapple with the realities of his disability when it comes to his prosthetics being prone to damage and potentially shutting down. I would, in the hands of anyone else, like to see more of this character and what his daily routine looks like as a disabled man.

Unfortunately all the good will built with Fizz comes crashing down when we get to the unnamed imp child in the Fizzarolli special episode. This child is the poster child for virtue signalling. Frankly, it's disgusting how a majority of the fandom seemed to ignore how fetishistic this portrayal was. This is where the real meat of the essay comes in to play.

This unnamed child is given a single scene, and is then promptly forgotten about and never mentioned again. They are introduced as being a fan of Fizz here to view the competition, there is a brief exchange between the two, and then we all move on. And yet this scene was championed as somehow revolutionary or a sign of the top-tier diversity and progressiveness in Helluva, when in reality this type of scene has been done to death. This is tokenism.

One major stumbling block many of the people championing this scene seem to get tripped up on is a very simple question: why was this child a child to begin with? Really, this seems like a simple question, it shouldn't have much thought. Sometimes characters are kids. But within the episode it's clearly shown through multiple different avenues that this is an adult show. The performances are dripping with sexuality, several of the fans of Fizzarolli are there because Mammon sells sex robots of the guy, there is no mistaking that this is something no child should be at, let alone by themselves.

So why was this child a child? Simple: brownie points.

It's a lot more difficult for people to share clips of a wholesome moment from your show if the person Fizz was interacting with was an adult. People are ableist, this is pretty par for the course; as a disabled person I find it generally safer to assume people are ableist before proven otherwise. I can guarantee if this scene were to be between Fizzarolli and a deaf adult fan as opposed to a young child, it would not have been championed as this amazing representation by mostly able bodied fans. And that is by design: if Vivienne genuinely cared about representation, if she truly wanted to show something meaningful to her adult fans in her adult show, she would have had the interaction be with an adult. But that doesn't get her clip shared around on social media. That doesn't get her brownie points for inclusion. It's safe, it's palatable, it's sickeningly wholesome, and it's insulting for that. This is a show for adults, something Vivienne and company is adamant on, and yet they treat their audience like children. As a fan, you should be insulted to have this key-jingling one minute clip presented to you. You should demand more, demand better.

Unfortunately I do not see ever getting better from Vivienne. She has made it very clear she truly does not care about creating art, she really only stumbled into being championed as a paragon for animation because her majority white and able bodied fans saw the inclusion of primarily gay men and thought that was good enough. She does not give a damn about disabled people, and she never will. To expect good disabled representation from her is like expecting good queer representation from a Marvel movie; she is in it for the money, and it just so happens that the inclusion of that scene makes money.

Addendum thoughts that were too long to put into the tags: I would like to make it clear that disability, because it presents very differently, is experienced very differently by many different people. If you felt seen or represented by the disability representation in either show, that's fine, and I don't want you to feel bad for feeling seen. Ultimately disabled people are largely given scraps; I have not once seen someone with my particular physical disability portrayed in media. Sometimes we latch onto things that are subpar or lacking; my criticism of reception to this scene is targeted primarily at able bodied audience members who may be lacking in this perspective and to also champion fellow disabled people to rightfully demand and expect better. Thank you for your time.

[stuck-writing-sickos]

In Poor Taste [P5]

(Yandere × F! Reader)

[Warning: addiction, alcohol, ageism, sexism, misogyny, mention of bodily harm, religious trauma]

[A/N: its high time we show yuki some love 🫶]

[Series Link]

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They couldn't stand being unremarkable.

"Bless me, father, for I have sinned."

Silence. The stuffy wood walls felt as if it was contracting.

"It's been five years since my last confession, and I accuse myself of the following sin."

No answer yet as per customary. Lukas tugged at his tight collar, anxious. His blunt fingernails reached inside the gap, letting a puff of air hit his chest dripping with sweat.

"I am lost, father."

"And why did you say that?"

"I have nothing special about me. I never really had to try hard to get what I want, and now... I don't know which path to take."

"You walk with God, my child."

Something within his chest inflated, leaving him gasping for air.

"Is that all there is, Father?"

"We are all nothing without Him. He will show you the way."

Lukas wanted to get out of the booth, but he couldn't. His body was frozen in place. Panic set in as he tried to squirm only to find his strength redundant.

"I don't see it, Father!", he tried to scream, but his voice came out weak, "I don't see it... I need to forge my own."

"And how do you plan to do that, when you are unspecial and lost?"

The priest's voice wasn't singular anymore. It dissolved into a chorus of many, thunderous and firm. Lukas heaved, choking on the taste of pennies. He felt a weight from the other side pressing against the confession window, closing the walls in.

The curtain cracked open. Lukas could only look as a hand reached in and grabbed his collar, harshly yanking him forward as if he was a ragdoll. His body was then unbound, light and fluid like water.

He gasped, his eyes fluttering open. Lukas felt the cold sweat on his neck. Between dream and reality, he almost remembered the bruised knuckle and the familiar fingers that pulled him awake.

___

Yuki figured the newbie was a quick learner, but he didn't think Lukas would pick up on your introversion that quickly.

It was ironic that this newcomer was already half of the foreign staff present in the end-of-year dinner that the foreign dept threw. The other half was you. Together you and him sat, tall and quiet. The cozy private restaurant lounge was bustling with chatters, but not one peep from this pair. Far off from the other side of the long table, Yuki could only steal glances at you who only nodded and smiled at any attempts at conversations that went your way. He was worried that Lukas might try something weird tonight what with alcohol so readily available, but so far he had seen nothing but a rather impressive effort at maintaining social norms. He assumed that ought to clear his mind, yet any time he found himself letting his guard down, he was sorely reminded of the punk rock clothing site. Some parts of him were starting to manifest doubt - was he the weird one for fixating? Was it some... American norms he failed to consider? After all, Australian culture could very well be less intense than its riveting cousin. Deciding at last that he was overthinking, he tried to keep up with the conversations around him.

If something bad were to happen, you'd say something, right?

"Say, Sakamoto", he jumped at Tahara's voice, surprised to see she had her attention on him now, "are you ever gonna get married?"

Instantly, eyes were on him. Yuki shifted, laughing nervously.

"Yeah", another voice chimed in, "You're 26, you're earning good money, you got your family's name. Women must be flocking to you."

That voice would be Hanao, quite possibly his least favorite senior. 33, begrudgingly married and completely removed from the concept of boundaries, he could only get worse with a pint in his hand.

"I have some unmarried cousins who would look great on you", Tahara piled onto the mess she herself caused, "Do you want a blind date with her?"

"Or look around the dept", Hanao exclaimed, his ugly habit of getting loud when he got drunk seeping in, "so many young, beautiful ladies are lining up for you!"

Yuki couldn't help but notice the discomfort on the faces of the "ladies" in question, their gaze downcasted or unsubtly turned away.

"Hanao, that's not fair to them", Yuki finally interfered, treading carefully so as not to trigger another terrible habit Hanao got up his sleeves when alcohol got into his system - getting angry, "they are not lining up for me, I'm sure."

"Nonsense", the older man dismissed, waving him off. Yuki's back felt cold as Hanao fully turned to his younger female colleagues who had gotten stiff and awkward, walled in by the long table and the crowd of coworker.

"Wouldn't you ladies want him? He's a bit dull and quiet, but he's a good kid. He is handsome, and his wallet is thick, too. I'm telling you, if you want a chance you better be quick."

The young women politely tried to move on from the topic, but it only fueled his insistence. Stressed out that Hanao was stuck on talking about marriage, Yuki finished his drink painstakingly fast. Hazy now, he landed the pint harshly.

"Excuse me... I should go for a smoke."

"Hey, what's the rush? Are you embarrassed?", Hanao asked, "It's okay Sakamoto, men only get finer with age! Sit down, I think Ms. Sasaki is interested, right?"

Yuki was already standing up with a cigarette in his mouth by the time Sasaki meekly protested. Something about "Mr. Hanao, you're so mean. He will hate me now!"

He looked at the girl. Yuki barely remembered any interaction they had with each other. Did they ever even talk? She was smiley, cheerful, and she had a sweet voice, but he didn't find anything reeling him in. In fact, the expectant look on her face as she tried to make eye contacts made Yuki queazy. Nervous and tense, he excused himself without even acknowledging her presence.

Sometimes, the body remembers things the mind tries to forget.

The smell of food followed him outside. Yuki hurried to a street corner, anxious for that first hit of nicotine to cool his head. Tipsy and disoriented, he was fumbling with the lighter when he saw you. He must had missed you slipping out of the party when Tahara and Hanao cornered him with their tedious talk of marriage. You were on your phone. Your thumbs were still hovering over the bright screen when you. Clearing his throat to make his presence know, Yuki was startled by the blank stare you gave his way.

"Everything okay?", he asked and walked over to stand by your side. Your eyes didn't follow his movement. You looked straight ahead, your face drained of any expression.

"Yes", you tried to sound casual, but your voice were light as air, "everything is fine."

He finally managed to light his cigarette. The first pull was long and crisp. His flexed shoulders dropped as he leaned against the wall and sigh, satisfied. From the corner of his eyes, he could see you tapping on your phone, your fingers typing up a storm. Something was wrong, he could tell, but he didn't want to push. Beside, he was just drunk enought to feel content keeping your company in silence.

It was by the second cigarette that you peeped: "can I have one, Sakamoto?"

That messed with his buzz. Propping himself upright, he turned over to face you.

"No."

You didn't respond. Instead, you stared at him with desperate eyes and quivering lips. Yuki watched your fingers curling up and flexing. A twinge in his chest made him drop the stern tone.

"What happened?"

You hung your head. Your quiet, exasperated voice was almost swallowed by the city's white noise: "please..."

He sighed and fished out one, seeing that it was no use persuading you. His hand hesitated as yours reached over, starved.

"You've quitted for 3 years. You were doing good."

You didn't say anything.

"Are you sure?" He asked for the last time, and the ache in his chest tugged again as he saw you nodding. He handed over the stick and watched helplessly as you stuck it between your teeth. As a last ditch effort, he tossed his lighter into the nearby dumpster.

"I'm sorry", he sighed and took another drag, puffing smoke out his nose, "you can call me a hypocrite, I deserve it. But I just can't-

He was cut off by your cool skin grazing his own as you took his cigarette right out of his mouth. Gently, you placed the burning end onto your unlit one and pulled until you've successfully kindled.

"I'm sorry", you choked, handing back what you'd stolen. He took it, slow and bewildered.

"It's okay. I'm worried, though. Did Lukas do something weird? You know you can tell me."

Your shoulders closed in. You couldn't look him in the eyes.

"No, not Lukas."

__

Lukas didn't like the hot, crawling excitement his body manifested when you were near. He couldn't focus. After the concert, he didn't want to face you. He tried to tell himself many things: you weren't any hotter than the girls he had back in college, you were too independent, you didn't bother to act feminine,... Didn't matter. You had something else that he wanted.

That was why no matter how tedious and stressful the dinner party was for him, someone who didn't know a lick of Japanese, he would rather sit in silence than to talk to you. You were quiet next to him, as if lost in thought. The entire day, he had noticed you spacing out and getting distracted. It was out of the ordinary for someone as put-together as you to keep saying "I'm sorry, I must have forgotten". The final straw was when you blankly sipped on your drink only to spill on your skirt. You didn't even react, only sighing and wiping it off with the tissue he handed over.

"Excuse me", your voice was monotone, "I'm going to the bathroom."

He didn't know who that was directed at. Only him, he assumed, since everyone else were lost in their own coversation. Seeing that your beer had splashed on the floor near where you sat, he reached over to wipe it off. His hand was nearby the phone you had forgotten when it buzzed, its screen lighting up.

"He is going through an episode again"

Lukas never thought of himself as someone who would snoop - after all, he never really cared for any women to reach that point - yet that text from your mother stirred up a morbid sense of curiosity. He watched the bright screen blinking again as another text popped up.

"Please... talk to your brother. He's threatening to do it again."

The screen door slid open, snapping him out of it. Quicking resuming his position, he smiled at you who were carefully finding your way back to your seat, side-stepping your coworkers. Your weary smile was poorly faked.

Lukas' heart beat fast. He was itching to ask you about what he saw, though he decided to hold it in. He didn't know how to begin the conversation without admitting that he had violated your privacy...that would warrant a strong reaction. Yet, within his curiosity, Lukas caught a glimpse of anticipation. How would you look at him, if you were to get mad? He tried to imagine you scowling, your jaw flexed and fists clenched. He wonder if you would curse him out. Maybe, you would even hit him.

God, he hoped you would.

Lost in a fantasy, he was grounded again when you softly excused yourself out "for some fresh air". Nobody paid any mind when you rushed off, your feet barely touching the ground.

Maybe now wouldn't be a good time to test out the validity of his craving. Lukas drew his attention to the rest of the party, trying to forget about it. He didn't understand a single thing, but Sakamoto's side was getting loud: he saw the guy bashfully trying to get through a coversation before excusing himself shortly thereafter with a cigarette in his mouth.

Anxiety bubbled in his guts as he sat alone and confused, bothered by the mental image of you and Sakamoto outside, bumping into each other. Would Sakamoto notice something was up with you? He might - the senior was sensible and keen-eyed. Lukas wasn't in love with small details, but he had seen the way the man covered for your lies on the spot. Short on breath, he caught his own fingers playing with the hem of his button-down shirt. Lukas tried to remind himself that whatever fixation he had on you should come to a stop, but amidst a feverish daze he couldn't resist the instinct to insert himself into your narrative. He didn't care if your mood would worsen. In fact, he hoped it would. He hoped you would take it out on him. Pulling himself up, he hurried after you.

By the restaurant entrance Lukas looked left and right, his heart racing. He didn't like that the reason he chose to be out was to interrupt your conversation, so he convinced himself that he was looking for something else, like a convenient store to get a pack of smoke. After all, he had a bad habit of craving them when he drank. Maybe, he could even look for Sakamoto and ask for one.

Lukas walked down the street, his eyes scanning faces of strangers. They didn't look his way, blurring past him like shadows. He wondered if he looked the same to you - a flash of color that breezed by, flat, voiceless, inconsequential. He didn't have time to let that thought eat him away when he caught Sakamoto's tall form leaning against a wall, half of his body hidden in an alleyway. Lukas took a long stride toward the man only in time for the buildings to move to the backend of his vision, revealing you who were giving a lit cigarette back.

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Prologue

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 13k

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

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

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

Poppy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he did, she thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She does.

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

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

“Then why are you all grumpy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She wishes he would stop saying her name. 

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

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

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

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

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

She really wishes he wouldn’t call her that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Half?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Poppy knows that Nia knows something happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Awesome! What’s left to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There is no me and Nico,”

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing happened!”

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

“He has a girlfriend, Nia.”

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

“Since when?” Nia frowns. 

“Since the summer just gone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

They didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nico

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Talia was great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he knew something still wasn’t right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why was Poppy packing up her desk?

Why was she avoiding hanging out with the team?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that’s what they had been talking about. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe you should ask her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aren’t friends anymore.

Avoiding the whole team all year.

Jack is driving her home.

He’s her favourite.

Aren’t friends anymore.

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turns out, 4 months might be too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jack: need ur help

Jack: urgently

Jack: wake up dude

Nico: I’m not driving anywhere for you

Jack: not asking u to

Jack: u will like this I promise 😌

Nico: what do you want?

Jack: need u to keep Poppy company

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

Jack: been on her own for a few hours

Jack: so she’s grumpy 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻 👹👹

Nico: doubt I can change the grumpy part

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

Jack: don’t need to

Jack: ur a grump too

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

Jack: u going down or no?

Nico: fine

Jack: I’ll be back in 1 hr :)

Jack: love u cap 😚

Nico: 🙄

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

> Chapter One

[lovebugism]

hi bug! you are one of the best writers on here. I love your work! I was wondering if I could request eddie and shy!reader watching a scary movie? maybe it’s early on in their relationship and she’s afraid that he’ll think she’s a baby if she says no, even though she’s pretty freaked? I love their dynamic!

ty lovie! hope u like it!! — eddie (the local freak) loves you, horror movies, and halloween, in the order. you (the scaredy cat) just love eddie. (new relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort-ish, 1.7k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Orange lamplight illuminates the dark trailer. You squint at the brightness, still curled up on the couch and missing Eddie’s warmth. He’s too busy rifling through his collection of VHS tapes beneath the TV stand, searching for a scary movie within a sea of scary movies.

He’s giddy like a kid on Christmas despite having seen all of them a thousand times over. But, then again, the Halloween season tends to be like Christmas for metalhead freaks like the one you love so dearly.

“Okay, Texas Chainsaw Massacre or The Exorcist?” the boy offers when he rises again, chestnut curls as wild as the bright beam on his face. He stands in front of the small television where red names scroll against a black screen and holds both options in eager hands. “Which one do you wanna watch next?”

You shrink inside yourself at the sight of both tapes. On one, a screaming girl — on the other, a masked man with a weapon. Your organs writhe with a fear most irrational. It runs ice-cold through your veins. 

You pull the woven blanket up to your chin and shrug, feigning a nonchalance despite your tightening chest. “Whichever one—”

“—And don’t say whichever one I want, alright? You always do that,” Eddie interjects, all boyishly harsh compared to how softly you had spoken. His playful grin hasn’t yet left him, though, and even in the dim lighting, his dark eyes still sparkle when they look at you.

You cower again, more visibly and with a different emotion this time. 

The corner of your lip quirks with a poorly hidden smile as you peek at the boy from beneath your lashes. “I don’t mind, Eds. Seriously,” you assure, still quiet in your way.

He pouts like a child, features scrunching in a childlike disdain. “But we always do the stuff I wanna do! You never have an opinion on anything. It’s always just, like, ‘whatever you want, Eds’ or ‘I’m good with whatever, babe—’”

You laugh at his obviously poor imitation of you.

The bubbly sound makes his smile widen.

“—You don’t have to be so sweet all the time, you know? You can be a little mean to me. I won’t mind, I promise.” 

It’s in his nature to make dumb, dirty jokes at arguably the worst times — especially with you, ‘cause he loves watching you get all flustered about it. But he thinks if you ever got the least bit assertive with him, he’d turn into a puddle at your feet.

“It’s because I don’t really care what we do,” you confess, warm with the blushy pink feeling he stirs in your chest. “I just like being with you, you know?”

Eddie’s stomach whirls. He’s too metal to let it turn him to mush.

“As cute as that is, you’re not sweet talkin’ your way outta this one, princess,” the boy retorts with a scrunched nose and twinkling eyes. “Pick.”

Too indecisive and too in love with the boy standing before you, you whine, “Eds…”

“Babe,” he grouses to match your pouty tone. His socked feet scuff against the carpet when he walks the short distance to you. “C’mon. You’re killin’ me here.”

A staring contest ensues, each of you stubborn and playfully serious with it.

It’s embarrassingly brief.

It’s hard for you to stare too long at Eddie before you get completely lost in him. You too quickly realize that he���s real — that he’s looking back at you and that he loves you — and you feel a bit like your feet have been pulled out from under you. 

Stern, but still gentle, you cave. “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

Eddie beams when he gets his way. 

“See? Was that so hard?” he teases quietly, bending at the waist to kiss you.

You tilt your chin to meet him halfway. It’s instinct at this point, like he’s got his own gravitational pull. His breath smells like warm nicotine and buttery popcorn as it fans against your chin. 

He pulls back before you can reach him, though, and your fluttering eyes widen at the sudden refusal. 

You find Eddie already squinting down at you. 

“Are you just saying that ‘cause you know it’s my favorite?” he interrogates lowly.

“Maybe I like it because you like it,” you argue, too soft to be as serious as you seem. “Ever thought of that?”

“You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that, right?”

Your playfully taunting gaze gives way to a more genuine grin. “Now, I do.”

Eddie leans in to kiss you. For real this time. It’s a fleeting peck that leaves you grieving. His plush lips press pink against yours for one moment, and they’re gone the very next.

The couch dips beneath his weight when he plops down beside you. He coaxes your folded-up legs onto his lap with an urging hand on your knee. 

“Okay, how about this,” he offers with rosy lips so suddenly kissable. “We go down to Family Video — bother Steve for, like, ten minutes — and you get whatever movies you want instead of the old shit we have here. My treat.”

Your chest warms. You’d follow Eddie blindly for the rest of your life if he let you. You’d do whatever he wanted and not think twice about any of it. It feels nice to know he’d do the same for you. 

“Any movie?” you press, soft with a girlish giddiness you fight to keep hidden.

“Yeah,” the boy scoffs like it’s obvious. Then, in a vaguely posh accent, he assures, “What my lady wants, my lady shall get.”

You grow so suddenly sheepish, shrinking inside yourself like you always do when you’ve got something to say but lack the confidence to put it into words. It’s dumb to get nervous about it, and you know this, but you don’t want Eddie to think any differently of you — not for a moment, not even in the most innocent way.

“Does it have to be scary?” you wonder with a scrunched nose and a bashful gaze that doesn’t quite meet his.

Eddie falters for a moment. Not because it’s a big deal, but because he thought you liked horror films — that you both had that in common. 

“Well— I mean— No. It’s just— It’s October, you know? So, I thought scary movies would be more appropriate. ’Tis the season or whatever.”

“I think I just need a break for a bit,” you confess with a wavering smile, picking tiny balls of cotton from the blanket with a fidgeting hand. “Especially after that last one… It was pretty scary…”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. Too clouded by the haze of puppy love, he thought you were having just as much fun as he was. He thought you were clutching his arm and digging your nose into his shoulder because you wanted to be close to him. 

Because he’s an idiot. 

Realizing that you’ve been scared out of your mind for the past several hours feels a little like a knife to the gut. 

“I thought you liked scary movies…” Eddie quavers with pinched brows.

“I like them because you like them—”

“Babe!” he exclaims suddenly, as though offended by how much you love him.

“What?”

“That’s, like— That’s totally not cool!” he gapes in a boyish outrage. “That means I’ve been, like, fucking traumatizing you this whole time!”

You can’t help but giggle at his dramatics. You’d been scared, of course, but it hadn’t been all that extreme to you. “It’s okay, Eds. It’s not that serious—”

“Yes, it is!” he retorts firmly, with wide eyes and a stern nod. “If I knew you weren’t into them, I wouldn’t have forced you to—”

“You didn’t force me.”

“—To come over every weekend and watch them!”

“That’s why I didn’t wanna tell you, Eds,” you admit with a shy, halfway-forced giggle.

He goes quiet again. “…Why?”

“‘Cause I was scared you wouldn’t wanna hang out with me… I mean, what kinda girlfriend would I be if I was too much of a scaredy cat to watch stupid slasher films with my boyfriend?”

“Well, that’s just— that’s just not true. I just meant that we coulda been doing other stuff together,” Eddie affirms, gentle but in the overtly firm Munson way. A chuckle sputters from his lips as his palm squeezes your knee, warm and reassuring. “Stuff that wasn’t scaring the absolute shit outta you, preferably.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just laugh. 

Eddie smiles back at you, mostly because it’s terribly hard not to, but he grows suddenly somber again. 

“Seriously, babe,” he presses, leaning closer so you can’t duck away from his sparkling gaze. His chocolate eyes are dark enough to drown in. They flit between both of yours. “You gotta tell me shit like this, okay? You’re not gonna hurt my feelings— or, like, make me like you less or whatever. That’s pretty much impossible, I think.”

Your stomach does a backflip. It unleashes a thousand butterflies that flutter relentlessly against your ribcage. “Yeah?” you press softly and with a shy smile you try to keep hidden.

“Oh, totally,” he answers without thinking twice. “Our friends are idiots, but they’re right— I’m so fucking whipped for you, it’s not even funny.”

That joke was only halfway gratifying when it spilled from Steve or Dustin’s mouth. Hearing Eddie say it — with his nose mere inches away from your own and with his cigarette smoke and candied breath entwining with yours — it’s that times a thousand. A million, even.

“Well, maybe a little,” you tease quietly in return.

Eddie shrugs with a jutted-out lip. “Just a bit, I guess.”

He might as well be telling you I love you. It feels like he is, in his own special way.

“Are we still gonna go to Family Video?” you wonder aloud when the silence becomes too heavy to bear.

“Oh, yeah. You’re getting whatever the hell you want, alright? I’ll buy out the whole damn store if you want.” 

He only has mere dollars to his name. You know this, too. But he says it with so much hubris that it feels just as real, anyway.

Beaming fully again, you joke. “Are we still gonna bother Steve while we’re there?”

“Yes,” Eddie answers with a single nod and a deadpan, like he’s offended you would even ask. “That answer’s always gonna be yes.”

[lalunanymph]

𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐈𝐓 — i.rin

both of your lives take an unexpected turn

Rin's pretty sure he's never fucked up this badly before.

Besides the dried scabs on his knees, and a few litany of scars covering his arms from one too many dives on the verdant green fields, he's remained largely unscathed from any real harm (though emotionally, his history begs to differ).

Looking back at it, he supposes he should've manoeuvred this situation better—and that's what it is, he bitterly thinks—a fucking situation.

Too much champagne, not enough common sense; your bedroom eyes begging him to unravel the layers behind your double meaning, and two weeks later, he's staring at a text on his blurry screen telling him how your period was worryingly and undoubtedly late.

He steps down from the treadmill, grabs his water bottle and unscrews it with too much force. Chugging down the cold liquid, he remembers how you told him you were safe—that you could be trusted with this little... indiscretion.

One slip up and now he's done for life.

That's eighteen years of payments and court visits and in-laws breathing down his neck and Sae's disappointment and his entire football career shooting up in flames. He can already see the headlines.

Breaking news: Blue Lock's ace, Itoshi Rin, trades cleats for diapers.

Fuck. He's furious.

If he'd known how much you had fucked up, he wouldn't even take the risk. Wouldn't even bother going along with your lame attempts at flirting or wandering away from the club to sneak behind the back of his Range Rover with your lips glued to his.

He wouldn't have caved to Shidou's egging in the first place or tried to show off his prowess by giving into the other boys making fun of his sparse sex life.

Rin had proven their point by taking you home and now, he was reaping the consequences.

Scowling and seeing red, he furiously brings up your name, reads through your text at least four times.

I think I'm pregnant and you're the last man I was with. Please, call me when you have the time, Rin. It's an emergency.

He swears under his breath, slams his locker door shut. The dark-haired man should've never given you his number. He should've never even locked eyes with you across the smoky, crowded room from the very beginning.

A part of him, that sick, twisted part, wonders if he could get away with it: block your number, forget you ever existed and call for a restraining order if you decided to push him for a heftier child support bill.

After all, everything's fair in disputes and disloyalties.

But, he decides to see you; to pay you off and buy your silence before it gets out of hand.

Rin doesn't bother to shower, getting into his car and driving to your apartment still saved under his GPS app. He drives like a man possessed, slamming the brakes right in front of your decent condo and barking out your unit name to the poor, old guard.

He finds your place soon enough, retraces the steps he took on that drunken night with his surprisingly sharp memory to find himself right in front of your door. Ringing the door bell, it doesn't take long for his keen ears to catch your footsteps, every muscle in his body tensing when you slide the door open and he catches the first sight of your red-rimmed eyes.

"I'm not taking responsibility for it."

The harsh words tumble out of his mouth and right onto your unsuspecting threshold, stunning you into an awkward silence.

You look tired, dressed in a ratty old band t-shirt he remembers vaguely listening to in his teenage years and nothing else. Your hair is sticking out in odd ends and you're in a pair of socks a size too big, the bands sagging around your ankles.

Though you don't say a word, he knows you're reeling from his callous statement, lashes fluttering against your cheek as you blink, once—twice. Trying to chase off the tears smarting in the corners of your eyes.

He notices a gold bracelet around your wrist—Cartier, or some other shitty brand the rest of the guys were always clamouring to get for their side pieces. Rin crosses his arms, the compression black shirt he's wearing stretches tightly over his chest, and he hopes his heart isn't beating too fast to be seen past the flimsy material.

"Okay," you eventually croak, bobbing your head once in an clumsy nod. "Thank you for letting me know... I guess."

You make to close the door, but in a fit of rage, he stops you with a foot wedged between the door and its frame.

"Don't tell me you're planning to keep it?" You don't dare look into those stormy teal eyes, shaking your head.

"I don't know what to do with the baby yet, Rin. I'll keep you posted if I change my mind."

Something despairing drags its talons right into his chest, and he drops his arms, scrutinises you from head to toe.

"You're not financially stable enough to make that choice."

Deep hurt flashes behind your eyes, and it translates to an insurmountable anger exploding across your face, almost blinding him with your fury.

"And who are you to make that decision for me, huh?"

Nudging his foot off the frame, you mimic his stance, crossing your arms and shooting him a terrifying scowl. Rin almost feels the heat of your glare burning into his skin—almost.

"What if I wanted to keep it? You will have no say in what I do or do not do with this baby, Itoshi. So, I suggest you shut the fuck up."

His nostrils flare, and he leans forward, towering over you with his bigger and muscular build. "So, you're admitting it. You wanted to trap me. This was your plan all along, huh? What was in it for you? The child support money? The clout?"

Every piercing accusation results in one step forward until you have no choice but to unwittingly let him into your home. He backs you up to the wall, overpowering you with his intangible wrath, like he was about to make the game play that would ruin you for life.

"All you sluts are the same. Parading around in miniskirts, trying to shackle up with footballers because no real man would ever pay you a lick of attention—"

His head snaps to the side, the force of your slap ricocheting off the walls. You gasp, as if you hadn't meant to do it, palms flying right to your mouth.

"Rin—"

He lunges at you, trapping you with his bigger build, and you swear he's about to kill you with how those teal eyes are gouging right into your soul. But, he grips your cheeks, forcing you to look him square in the eyes...

... and devour your lips with a harsh kiss.

Your soft squeak is lost in the throes of his moan, hot and sticky hands sliding underneath your shirt to grip your naked hips, driving you right against his pelvis where you feel his insistence and need poking you on the thigh.

Rin stuffs his tongue down your throat, kneads your fleshy hips in his much, much bigger palms.

You can't resist him, not when you're already weak from the heartbreak and carrying a piece of him deep in your body.

"Rin," you whine, and he feverishly suckles more kisses and bites down your lower lip, your jaw, your chin.

"Fuck you," he hisses, reaching your pulse point and sloppily painting more biting kisses on the sensitive strip of skin. "You're such a fucking lukewarm problem."

He grasps your hips, hitches you up in his arms so you're forced to wrap your legs around his narrow waist.

"How could you do this to me?" he moans, ecstatic and in pain, the tips of his eyelashes prickling your cheek when he nibbles on your lobe. His hot breath sends ripples of pleasure down your spine, and you cry out when he slaps your ass with both hands. "Thought I could fuck you with no consequences... you're too damn sexy for your own good... had to put a fucking baby in you—fuck!"

He yelps when you tug on his hair, the pinch of pain going straight to his throbbing length.

"Go away," you gasp, pressing your palms flush to his broad chest and giving a good push. He loses his grip on you and you tumble right to the floor, landing on your ass.

"Ow—!"

You swear, rubbing your aching hip bone and scramble to stand with the last of your dignity intact. Still buzzing and thrumming with lust, Rin sweeps his glacial gaze over you, noting the hurt bleeding all over your sweet face; how you're close to tears and your lower lip is wobbling.

He can't keep his eyes off your bare thighs, or your nipples poking past the thin fabric of your old shirt.

Wrapping your arms around your torso, you back away from him, putting a good few feet between your cold body and his painfully aroused one.

"Get out of my home," you gasp, trying hard not to give into the flurry of tears desperately clogging the back of your throat. "Get out, Itoshi. You're fucking confusing me. I need you to leave."

The anger overshadows his urges, and he takes one step forward, only for you to flinch hard and take one hard step back, as if...

He comes to a stop, teal eyes wide and flashing.

As if you thought he was going to hurt you.

Rin senses what he must look like to you now—emotionally charged, spewing words of hate only to turn around and kiss you like he was a starved man...

You couldn't predict his next move.

Worst, you were afraid of him.

His shoulders droop, eyes falling to the ground. He senses more than notices that you're shaking, your instincts telling you to protect yourself from any perceived harm in your way... going as far to protect the child you were carrying from its unstable father with your arms wrapped around your torso.

Rin straightens, about to apologize when you're tugging his arm, pushing him out of your home.

"I-I'll deal with it myself," you promise in a thick voice. "I won't ask you for money or help. Just g-go, Rin. Please."

Despite weighing more in muscle than your entire frame, you succeed in pushing the famous footballer out of your home, slamming the door close right in front of his stunned face.

Rin doesn't even have time to compute what had just happened, staring at the chipped wood of the barrier right in front of him.

Despite the harsh exit you bestowed to him, he can't find the capacity to be understanding of your needs, arms folded, glare stuck on his handsome face.

I'm gonna get her back for this, he seethes. No matter how long it takes. I'll make you pay, Y/N.

Rin spends the rest of the week lingering outside your apartment when he has a spare moment after practice. He watches your back like a hawk, keeping his eyes steadfast on your belly. You had taken to wearing looser clothing, no more skin tight skirts and tank tops, but modest knee length skirts and flowy blouses.

He shadows your shadow in grocery stores, and observes in displeasure how you're struggling with the heavy bags. When you least expects it, he strides over to you, lifting the bundle you were holding with barely a grimace.

"Rin—!" you double back, unsure if you're seeing things.

Those icy teal eyes appraise you, and in his black windbreaker and windswept hair, he takes your breath away like he did all those weeks ago in the club.

"Get in. I'm driving."

"Were you following me?" you almost screech, glancing around as if you expect a swarm of cameras and someone to yell gotcha!

There was no way he would be here on his own choice.

It didn't make any sense, but he doesn't stop to say another word, marching towards your old sedan.

You hurry after him, tugging on his sleeve. "Hey! You can't just pop out of nowhere and boss me around!"

Rin pauses, stares you down the line of his nose. "I can. I just did. Now, are you going to continue putting the baby in danger or are you going to do as I say and get in the car?"

He's insane. You're fuming, wondering who exactly this asshole thought he was.

"I—"

"Don't argue with me. Not now. Let's just go home." Scrutinizing you from head to toe, he sets down the bags and shrugs off his jacket, slinging it around your shoulders without paying any attention to your protests.

"Put this on. Your blouse is too thin."

Without another word, he trudges back to the car, and you hesitantly follow after him.

Seeing Rin after what had happened all those days ago feels like the world's strongest whiplash; like you had stepped out from a rollercoaster only to be greeted by an entirely different reality.

He drives your car in a stony silence, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't told you to fend for yourself after renouncing his responsibility for you and the baby.

Perturbed, you touch your stomach absentmindedly and he notices.

"Have you been eating enough?" he murmurs tersely.

You nod, unsure why you were conceding so easily to his questions. Perhaps, it was the novelty of having someone as gorgeous and willing as Rin to take care of you. You feel both elated and disgruntled; confused and brimming with happiness.

"Why're you here?" you finally ask, a tremble in your question.

Rin expertly navigates his way back to your apartment, and you're thrown off by how easily he recognizes where to park; how seamlessly he gets out and gestures for you to do the same.

The star striker doesn't answer your question, and you mutely trail behind him. Once the groceries were set on your table, you quickly unload them, an awkward 6'4 statue of a man standing in the middle of your living room watching your every move.

Only when you perch your knee on the counter to reach the highest cabinet to stow your cans of tomato soup did he move to action, grunting in displeasure and gently easing you back to the ground; taking over your task.

"Rin," you hiss, shooting him a glare.

Not one to back down, he returns your glare tenfold, an expression that quells any further protests. Rin quickly attends to your groceries, and then, much to your fury, settles himself on your couch.

"Um," you start, "Not to be an ass or anything, but aren't you going to leave?"

He shrugs. "Do you need me to leave?"

You open your mouth, close it. Feeling like he had got the better of you.

But, two can play at this game.

Approaching him, you trap him to the sofa with your hands clawed on the plush velvet, glaring down at him with every drop of anger and disgust you could muster.

"Who the hell do you think you are, Itoshi Rin?"

This close, you notice how long his lashes are—how they cast shadows over his perfect cheekbones. The tip of his nose is red from the cold, and the corners of his lips were slightly chapped.

"Listen here, Itoshi," you snarl, and he tilts his head up, calmly appraising your anger.

She's like a kitten, hissing and chomping at any sign of affection.

It's amusing that he almost reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face—almost.

"I don't know what's gotten into that stupid head of yours, but need I remind you that you were the one who told me you hated me and wanted nothing to do with me or the baby? Or, did you conveniently forget?"

Rin cocks a brow, unfazed by your accusations or your proxomity.

"I never did say I hated you."

Your eyes widen, taken off guard by his admittance. Rin uses this opportunity to strike, folding his larger hands around your waist and twisting you onto the couch so he was looming over you.

The navy cashmere sweater he's wearing rides up a bit, showing off a sliver of his pale waist. You flush, remembering the compromising position he once put you in those nights ago; how he's relieving it together with you now.

Those teal eyes... I never knew such a shade of icy blue could look like twin flames.

There's no sound in the room except for both of your heavy breathing.

Rin can't stop himself from his impulses this time, pushing back a loose lock from your forehead, his touch searing every inch of skin he inadvertently caresses.

You feel like your cheeks are on fire, but Rin doesn't even look fazed. That calm and collectedness he contains behind such a monster on the field plays with your mind, and you don't know how else to react but to turn your face away.

"I changed my mind," he simply says. "I want to be here for you."

"What about your career?" you finally muster up the courage to ask. "I can't sit around and wait for you to toss me aside again. I... I won't let you play with my emotions like that, Rin."

He doesn't apologize, and he never will. Itoshi Rin is infuriatingly stubborn that way.

We don't even know each other that well. He finds himself falling into your gaze, how they enraptured and trapped him all those nights ago. The taste of your lips and how soft they felt pressed against his own.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. I want this. I want her.

He wishes he could say all that. But, what comes out of his mouth is something else entirely.

"Shut up and stop whining," he mumbles, those teal eyes searing through every doubt you had.

"I won't leave you. I'm here for good."

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[lupuslikethewolf]

in honour of being promoted to Deputy Stage Manager in my school's theatre department, top gun high school/sixth form au:

Dr Kazansky rules the drama department with an iron fist. always wearing black turtlenecks. never seen without his glasses, his coffee, and his terrifying glare (which earned him the moniker Dr Iceman). do not show up to rehearsals if you don't know your lines. death be upon the poor students who fuck around during tech and dress, because they will find out. he loves the crew tho.

Mr Call-Me-Mav Mitchell is the head of sports. you name it, he's played it, and he could absolutely give you pointers, also, do you want a protein bar with that? it's chocolate flavoured :) even the kids who Hate (capital H) sports love him. he is sunshine and adrenaline in human form. endless energy. no one knows why he is called maverick, but even the principal does it, so.

Mr Kerner is the principal. he is also the only person who can interrupt rehearsals and survive. dr kazansky loves him. inexplicably, maverick hates him. nough said.

Jake Seresin is the school's golden child, not even because he's Kazansky's nephew. he’s head boy. he’s on the school’s football/rugby team. he writes regular articles for the internal magazines. and this year, he’s playing Orpheus in the school’s production of Hadestown. everyone thinks it’s nepotism. it is and it’s not, jake just lost a bet to his Uncle Tom, and must now reap the consequences to said uncle’s delight.

Bradley Bradshaw has been stage crew since he was thirteen and an overworked runner, thank you very much. it’s his final show, he’s the DSM, and if fucking seresin ruins this for him, he will riot. dr kazansky should never let that happen. however, this is the same man who, last year, laughed when revealing that a screen on stage had turned off and bradley had to go on stage during the show to fix it. hm. maybe bradley should have re-thought his life choices. also: the turntable. the goddamn turntable.

other characters include: phoenix as eurydice, bob doing lighting, payback and fanboy as ASMs who flirt over the comms to everyones misery, cyclone as another drama teacher/stage manager,

maverick keeps turning up to rehearsals and trying to help because his favourite (cough only cough) godson and his favourite player are both interested in this stuff, so he should at least try, right? kazansky hates it until he doesn’t. kerner thinks it’s all fucking hilarious. bradley is embarrassed but its kinda endearing do NOT tell him i said that.

kazansky and maverick both bare witness to A Moment between their respective pseudo sons and decide the two simply must get together for their sakes and also so they never inflict that on another person ever.

bradley and jake both bare witness to A Moment between their respective pseudo fathers and decide the two simply must get together for their sakes and also so they never inflict that on another person ever.

kerner is cackling. Cackling.

[thebadboyfanclub]

Like A True Flower (Aemond x Reader)

So this was a bit hard to write but I hope you guys like it. There’s a slight mention of Aegon but I think I’ll need to write a part two to get into it cause there was just too many things to write. Let me know if you will be interested in that

As the years passed and the Targaryen name went from a burning dragon fire to merely a small candle that was handed to Daenerys Targaryen, the whispers of the bastard curse never went silent.

“If my children do not sit on the throne then none of our lines shall prosper”

(Y/n) Targaryens legacy lived on from people tarnishing her, blaming her and others who admired her wits and hunger for recognition. The bastard of Daemon Targaryen that was dropped off in Kings Landing, at the time Daemon had begged his brother King Viserys to legitimize her, raise her as their own, only the Seven could have known that (y/n) would turn out to be the one to put the sword on Aemonds hand and send him off to battle that got them both killed.

(Y/n) was the lady wife of Aemond per Queen Alicents request? At first, Alicent scoffed at the babe who seemed to sense the hatred that grew around her crib, a bastard amongst royalty, it was such a scandal at the time that Viserys had even considered giving her away. The babe growing tireless and her lungs as strong as steel made her discomfort evident to everyone with well working set of ears.

“Your grace”

“Have you fed her?”

“Fed her changed her, bathe her, nothing seems to work”

Alicent had walked into her nursery for the first time since she arrived, something in her compelled her to come to the child’s aid, listening to her wailing took her back to the first year of Aegons life.

“Give her to me”

The wet nurse hesitated only for a split second before she complied with the queen's orders, gently passing that young babe to Alicent who cooed at the poor thing, she had almost turned purple from crying, “she misses her mother” Alicent considered silently, slowly she started rocking her whilst she walked towards the window, she was pregnant with her third child at the time, her belly growing big and someone’s else daughter in her arms.

“She looks beautiful I’ll give you that much little girl”

She joked to the babe as the light of the sun graced her cheeks, it always seemed to work for Aegon and as the seconds passed (y/n) 's cries lessened, and a satisfied smile grew on Alicent lips as the little lady finally found peace in her arms, slowly turning her frown to one of the most adorable yawns that tugged at Alicante heartstrings.

“All you wanted was some sunlight, like a true flower”

Alicent was in awe of the child ever since, such a true beauty, and as she grew her delightful personality took everyone by storm, to be around her was to fall for her, even as just a child little boys would bring her flowers that they plucked from some unfortunate garden, including Aegon and later Aemond.

The two brothers were close to the princess, they would compete for her attention any way they could, of course, Aegon had the advantage of having a dragon and Aemond had to stay on the ground as he watched them circle one another, he would gawk at them with envy, praying that one day Aegon will have to watch him ride his very own dragon with (y/n).

Aegon on the other side would despise (y/n) and Aemonds reading time, the young girl was gifted at the literate arts, it was almost like she would swallow any book and recite on the spot anything that she was asked about any book she had gotten her hands on, Aemond was not as intellect yet he caught fast than Aegon and was more inclined to ask intriguing questions.

You can imagine his outburst of rage when the queen announced that she was to marry his youngest brother.

“She had inherited the lustful urges of her ferocious father, at the very least we must say she was much more discreet about it”

The historians would report back when asked about it, Aegon had the lust and fire of the dragon, while Aemond was sweet, attentive to her needs and his touch was oh so soft. Besides the fact that (y/n) wanted to have a bite of sweet and spicy, she also relished the jealousy between them, fighting for a spot in her bed every night was an aphrodisiac like no other.

Even though she was married under the seven to Aemond, she would often sneak from her chambers at the hour of the wolf and warm Aegon bed or other times when the chambermaids would scurry away after listening to the loud moans of (y/n) and Aemond in any type of room that the castle had to offer.

“A little after the war of dragons began her lady in waiting- Chiara Baratheon- had reported seeing the princess sitting on the iron throne while Aegon pleased her”

Mushroom would add briefly and with a hint of disapproval. No matter what she had the blind trust of the king and the prince and the undeniable love of Queen Alicent, the gods seemed to be in her favor whilst everyone wondered how.

(Y/n) was blessed by the dark world that her entire bloodline owed everything, at nightfall when the castle grew tired (y/n) would burn her candles and open her book, coming in contact with her ancestors as she sacrificed animals or even offered her own drops of blood and whenever she could she would spill Aemonds or Aegons, if you asked her she would say that she did it out of love, to keep them safe and in power, if they climbed the throne it was only natural that she would follow.

-

“Are you sure about your choice in your gown?”

“Never been more certain of something in my life, don’t you find it flattering?”

“You would be the most comely lady in all of Westeros even with a sack”

“Then it is settled, I am sure Mother will love it as well”

(Y/n) responded light-heartedly as she snaked her arm around Aemonds, she smiled brightly up at him like she always did making his stomach turn in backflips….like she always did.

Admins was taken by his lady wife, he was forever a slave to her and he was the one who had thrown away the key of his cell, his eye would sparkle with admiration any time he would simply gaze at her, her touch brought him goosebumps and her love, oh her love, like a fire that slowly burned him from the inside, a sweet death that was worth a thousand cuts.

“Our deepest apologies, I lost track of time worrying about my bloody hair”

(Y/n) could not afford to seem raddled or scared in front of her father's hawk eye, she paraded in with Aemond linked on her arm and a bright smile of a carefree attitude.

“Mother”

She acknowledged Alicent as her mother years before she was wed to Aemond, bending down to give a kiss on the cheek to the queen that made Alicent smile brightly and turn slightly towards her.

“How are you my flower?”

“Better, the morning sickness seems to be wearing off”

“Morning sickness? Is the princess with child?”

“Indeed… forgive me you haven’t been at court for so long, should I address you as princess, sister, or good mother?”

“Princess will do”

Rhaenyra confirmed through her teeth as her hand went over Daemon which had turned into a fist. Rhaenyra was no fool yet she somewhat understood the reasoning behind the young girl’s actions, left behind and forgotten by her father, motherless by death and fatherless by choice, she had begged Daemon to demand to take her with them but Daemon felt that the bond was unable to be fixed in any way.

(Y/n) only nodded and Aemond pulled out the chair next to Queen Alicent as she always wished to sit right next to her, even Otto had learned not to question it, as the dinner went on and the exhausting speech of King Viserys who just so happened to remember that he has a family that has steadfastly trickled into the chaos that he never even attempted to fix (y/n) also had to endure the forcefully emotional toast of Rhaenyra, still the shock that came from Alicent calling her “a fine queen” was the part that compelled her to rise and take her goblet.

“I would also like to raise a toast to our king who was kind enough to take me in when I had no one and merely but a babe I will always be grateful for that and to my mother, Queen Alicent, who came to my aid and offered me the love and the kind touch of a parent that I was denied by destiny, my love and devotion for her goes beyond words, may they live on and be able to see the fruits of my marriage.”

Daemon was ready to combust from anger. “How fucking dare she?” He thought “I took her from the arms of her dead mother, I begged Viserys to give her a home and now this is how she chooses to repay me?”

As the music played and the wine flowed everyone’s shoulders seemed to relax and laughter would intertwine with the mixture of talks amongst the people that dined.

“Would you do me the honor?”

(Y/n) heard from the back of her, turning only to be met with Prince Jacaerys who was sticking his arm out of her, there was a time when (y/n) and Jacaerys had some type of connection, Jacaerys was kind to her and had even offered to teach her the art of the sword, (y/n) puffed out a breath after she took his hand, no matter how she felt about it she was aware that Alicent wanted this to pass as swiftly as possible with no type of conflict.

“You look breathtaking if that isn’t obvious”

“That is very kind of you to say, my prince”

“I remember there was a time when we did not use such formalities”

“That was a time when my intended had both eyes”

she threw back with a smile still on her lips, as they dance (y/n) might have appeared to be happy although it could not be further from the truth, as they danced around together with a turn that Jacaerys had guided she was able to see both Aegon and Aemond waiting for their moment to attack Jacaerys, the prince was too carefree as he walked in the edge of their swords and it came the time that (y/n) dipped with his one arm around her waist and his free one went up to caress her locks, that was when a sudden booming sound of Aemonds fist on the table was heard, (y/n) immediately stood up and watched Aemond raise his goblet.

“To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey each of them handsome, wise… strong”

“Aemond”

“Come, let us drain our cups to these three strong boys”

“I dare you to say that again”

“Why? T’was only a compliment, do you not think yourself strong boy?”

Jacaerys was once again the one to bring violence into the matter, what seemed to be not taken into consideration was that Aemond was now a man-grown, and quite easily with one hand, he pushed Jacaerys onto the floor. (Y/n) walked to Aemond and stood between them, her hands finding his forearms, before she could phrase anything the queen had also walked up to the prince of chaos.

“Why would you say such a thing in front of all these people?”

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family mother, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs”

That was enough to send Jacaerys off again and try to free himself from the guards. The prince only got to make a few steps before Daemon stood between, it seemed like Jacaerys respected the rogue prince which left (y/n) dumbfounded, “who could respect such a buffoon?” She questioned in her mind

As Daemon turned to look at Aemond (y/n) took it upon herself and stood in front of her husband, the same smirk that Daemon had was the one that (y/n) was presented as well, her mismatched eyes reminded him so much of his mothers, “it was a shame that they had to be wasted on her” he thought.

At least he had to appreciate her ever-growing courage, though he didn’t know if he had to congratulate her or fear her, the girl put herself ahead of the man that she was wed just to prove she was just as courageous as the man she grew to hate.

“Go to your chambers, all of you”

Rhaenyra commanded but it appeared that (y/n) and Daemon had gone on a standoff, eyeballing one another like animals waiting for a slight move so the other could attack, both of them spewed fire from the eyes.

Aemond admired her, he would not dare to touch her and quite frankly he did not want to, he thoroughly enjoyed the sight of his love standing her ground against such a vile man.

“Little flower, please”

Alicent pleaded as her shaky hands found (y/n) 's upper arm and gave it a slight squeeze, (y/n) inhaled sharply although she only took a step back when Daemon diverted his focus to his lady wife, (y/n) offered a smirk to Alicent and after she gave a kiss on her cheek to calm her down, she knew that Alicent was never fond of such tension.

“Get some rest Mother, a long morrow awaits us”

The only way towards their chambers was to pass by Daemon, so step by step (y/n) and Aemond stood by his side, (y/n) halted and faced Daemon right in the eye.

“Let us solve this another day, Father”

It would have been better if she had called him the vilest of names, that name was enough for Daemon to reach for his sword and Rhaenyra to beg him to stop by pushing him back.

(Y/n)s laughter was heard as she walked away with her husband following close, the second the doors of the dining hall closed Aemond had snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her for a deep kiss to which (y/n) responded with the same passion.

“I did not know such things excited you, my love”

“How could it not? Any man would implore for an ounce of your attention after such performance”

“You always demand my attention Aemond”

“Can you blame me?”

He cheekily responded. (Y/n) only smiled and kissed him again pulling him in, she did not have much time, though a small stop to collect her prize of a very excited husband would not hurt.

“Tonight I need you in my chamber”

“Where will you do it tonight my love?”

“The simplest of cuts… right here”

She said as she let her index finger grace over the middle of his chest, she had to offer something right before the king died to make sure the will stayed spinning towards her.

“Whatever you want, my love, as long as I get my treat after”

“I could never deny myself the pleasure of you”

“Let us go before Aegon catches up to us and steals you away from me

Requests are open!

[lightlycareless]

Hi! As a Naoya fan, I really appreciate what you do for us and girl, I just love your works <33

So, Eh, I don't know how to say this... Can you write a fic about him where he has been married to a woman chosen for him by his clan but after so many years, he can't forget y/n? I mean, it's so cliché Ik, but I just can't get it out of my mind. It's like he really loved her and would've even eloped with her but at the end, it was y/n who asked him to go back to his clan since she knew that it was Naoya's fate to be the clan head. So, eventually y/n leaves and Naoya marries his wife and he gets to be the head of Zenin clan and later on, he kinds wishes his wife would give birth to a daughter so he could name her after y/n. Or maybe she does and while everyone expects him to torment the poor wife, he would silently pick up the baby and hug his daughter as if he wishes she was her baby?

so yeah, that's it, thank you anyway.

Hello!!!!!!!!

Omg thank you so much I'm soooo glad you like my work 🥹❤️

HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGH this ask has been on my mind since it first popped up jfc you know how to torture me.

I have been working on a small fic too with a similar topic, it's not going to be that long as my other work but I think you'll find it enjoyable too hehe. ... if I ever get back to it. heheheh.

ajkghasjgha anyways, let's get right into it.

warnings: angst. mentions/implications of death and unaliving someone :s. naoya is really cruel when referring to his unborn child.

Happy reading!

“If we ever have a daughter, I would like her to be named Naomi”

Is the first thought that crosses Naoya’s mind upon learning that his wife is expecting a daughter.

But beyond that, there is no excitement. No glee in his eye upon learning he’s to become a father in just a matter of months, his seed finally taking root after many dutiful attempts.

“Why?”

“Because it’s a cute name. And I always thought it was adorable how your family named the children after their parents. You are no exception, Naoya.”

He should be happy, right? Glad that his efforts ultimately paid off.

“That’s not too cheesy, is it?”

“…I think I’ll be happy just to have a family with you, regardless of what the baby is named.”

That he was to have the cherished family he always dreamt of having with the love of his life, after so many years of solitude…

Except he wasn’t.

Because his wife, the one carrying his child, wasn’t you.

…

…

…

Ever since he lost you, for a lack of better words, nothing has been the same.

“A daughter… of all the possibilities. Let’s just hope she’s strong.” His father would say, disappointed by the announcement. Naoya remains quiet, uninterested to respond but still deep in thought.

“Do you think they’ll look like you?”

“I hope not.”

“Gee, why not? I know I haven’t seen pictures of you as a baby, but I’m sure you were a cute one!”

Because I want them to look like you.

The sole purpose of his futile life was gone. And with it, any semblance of concern. Care for all that happened around him, or anyone for that matter.

Including his supposed partner, the woman the Zen’in assigned him to marry and continue their legacy. Even when she stood before him, seeking comfort, or at least encouragement after seeing the doctor, to Naoya… she was simply not there.

“Naoya-sama.” She’d call to him once in the privacy of their room, right after the doctor had left. The woman named Taeko, had always been… loyal, meek, submissive. Never one to retort or do anything that wasn’t to please him.

Yet, as much as she had fooled his family, Naoya was still able to see right through her.

Taeko didn’t care about him; no, not at all. The only thing she truly she cared about was the heir. The money that came along with his title, the financial security this meant for her…

More so now that she was pregnant; dictating that even when divorced, she would never have to work a day in her life.

Perhaps if he hadn’t discovered what love was, then maybe he would’ve struggled to discover her true intentions. Unfortunately for them, he had met you, with whom he learned what it was to be happy for once in his life… a teaching that will forever live on within him, naturally making this marriage almost impossible to coexist with.

As well as painful, remembering that this is all he had left of you, besides memories.

Naoya keeps quiet even when his wife calls for him yet again, not bothering to lift his gaze from whatever it was that took his attention, nor requesting her to proceed.

She takes his silence as her cue to continue.

“I know having a daughter wasn’t in the plans, but…” Taeko said, stepping closer to him. Just a few inches away from touching him… “I am still excited to welcome this new stage in our life.”

Of course she is. Her future is firmly set, regardless of his family’s ideals and the baby’s gender.

“I was actually thinking of naming the child after you, to follow your clan’s tradi—”

“You will not do such thing.” Naoya scowls, swiftly turning around and pushing her away, the burning look of his enraged eyes reveals she’s reopened a painful wound she’ll perhaps never comprehend.

Nor care to do so, believing instead that his anger came from her supposed failure to bring a male heir onto the Zen’in clan; and not because of the privilege—no, the right she’s stripping away from you.

Because you are the only one that deserved to be the mother of his children, the one to name them, love them, raise them…

Not this poor excuse of a leech.

“I heard you were having a child… congratulations, Naoya.” Ranta begins, partially unsure on how to approach the future father, or to do so at all… eventually settling to go through with it anyway. An announcement like this must make anyone happy, right? “Although I never expected your first child to be a girl! I mean… I always thought you’d have a bo—”

“This isn’t what I want, and you know that.” Naoya coldly cuts through Ranta’s words, making him flinch. “So, spare me the theatrics.”

Ranta swallows, he is amongst the few, if not the only, who knows the truth, the depths of his relationship with you:

Or your supposed fate.

And how angry he got when he knew the truth… or what he suspected, anyways.

Your disappearance wasn’t a simple coincidence, a misfortune of fate.

It was a necessity for the Zen’in’s plans; you quickly became nothing less than a hindrance once Naoya announced his intentions of marrying you.

They couldn’t permit a woman of your background to become Lady of the House. An unruly, opinionated girl that went against every single one of their beliefs. Nor could they allow you to free Naoya from their grasp.

And so, they did what was necessary. Get rid of their obstacle, call it a simple disappearance, cold feet as others assured, and let everything fall back into place.

Leaving Naoya behind with his cruel family, yet again.

But they’d never admit it. They would just say that your family decided to search for better opportunities elsewhere, you tagging along.

Yet, the body of an unidentified woman found in the middle of a forest near your home would indicate—

“—What are you going to do?” Ranta asks.

“There’s nothing for me to do.” Naoya frowns. “The only person I ever loved, the one person I should’ve never let go… is gone, and now, I’m stuck in this nightmare, alongside a woman that wants nothing from me but my money. Just like everyone always is.”

Ranta wishes to deny his accusations, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to his grieving friend. It would insult him, and you.

“…But…”

“But what?” Naoya retorted.

“…Well, you should at least… consider the baby. They—they shouldn’t be held accountable for what their mother has—”

“Don’t even dare call that thing my child.” He coldly declares. “It may have my name, but that thing is not mine. What assurance do I have that it is? She could’ve easily bedded anyone to get the job done!”

“Naoya! You— you shouldn’t say that!”

“Can you prove the contrary?”

“No—but it’s not right to make these assumptions either!”

“Then what do you suggest, dear friend of mine?”

“I… I think you—"

Have to let her go.

It becomes clear to Ranta how gravely he had underestimated the wound your absence had inflicted on Naoya’s heart—but perhaps he never wanted to admit such thing, for it would only remind his friend of what he once had and now lost forever.

But no matter how much he wished to act the fool, there was no hiding his heightened destructive tendencies, his aggravating isolation, which he already did with people he didn’t like, rising tensions between members alike, forcing them to steer clear of Naoya if they wished to live another day; or pester his father about the misbehavior of his son, forcing him to burden his wife with duties of cheering him up, or something if she wished to stay at the estate—

All for naught, for she had effectively ceased to exist the moment she announced her pregnancy. For the following 9 months, Naoya wouldn’t look her in the eye, even when sleeping in the same bed. Not that there were many opportunities to do so, for he eventually confined himself to whatever other room was available, officially dictating their marriage as unsalvageable.

Some took it as a reflection of his disappointment, a rightful reaction to have towards a female successor.

But Ranta knew better. Those close to him knew the truth.

He was openly reproaching his wife for having taken your place.

So naturally, he wasn’t there when Taeko went into labor. He wasn’t attentive to her calls, desperate pleads of companionship and support—he simply walked past her cries as she gave birth to his child and headed straight into the training grounds, just what he had exuberantly done these past few months to distract himself.

Yet, as much as he wished to run away from his reality, he wouldn’t be able to escape his duties, forced by relatives alike to go and meet the mother of his daughter to officially recognize her. Regardless of the brewing animosity between the two, if there were no other suitable candidates, this baby was still to be the future of the Zen’in, and thus, necessary to name.

Naoya doesn’t bother to wonder on who’d the child would look like the most, still, he knows he’ll hate it even more if she ends up a carbon copy of her mother—would it even matter if she took more after him instead?

Nonetheless, curiosity manages to get the best of him when entering the room where his wife and child awaited, walking past the midwives and straight to his so-called partner, leaning close to the small bundle wrapped in a white blanket, making up his mind in effectively cutting her out of his life if she ends up looking like Taeko.

But when he begins to get a glimpse of her small face…

The most unexpected happens.

As if the child knew her father was near, she slowly opens her eyes, revealing a golden gaze that reinstates her relationship to him—followed by a small patch of his black hair on top of her head, the shape of his eyes…

But most importantly, the words you once confided to him during the intimacy of the night.

“I want them to have your eyes. Your nose. Your hair. Your smile. I want the world to see all the things I love from you through our children.”

As well as your burning desire to have children that looked just like him, even when he hoped otherwise.

He doesn’t know what it was. Certainly not the excitement of having a life permanently intertwined with a woman he didn’t love; but something about your memory, how much you desired this moment, the innocence that engulfed such child, one that he only thought possible through you, his features shown through her, and how vulnerable she felt once in his arms…

Naoya found it unnecessary to wonder what kind of reaction you would have, still, he liked to imagine the brightness in your face, the love in your eyes, the grin on your lips: to be overjoyed to finally have a family with him, eagerly waiting to live out the future that waited for the three.

If this is the way you’d continue to live on, then he’d honor such memory; one last insult to the family that had continuously hurt him over and over again, through merits they would never wipe away, no matter how much they’d try—

“The name, for the child.” The midwife asks, moving closer to Naoya.

Under his own conditions.

“Y/N— Y/N Zen’in.” Naoya declares, softly looking down onto the child. “That will be her name.”

“Wh—What!?” The mother gasps, quickly understanding the implications behind his selection, followed by a futile attempt to make him reconsider, stop him from removing her existence!

But he had long erased her from his consideration, declaring that she was to have no relationship with the child, opting to raise her himself, his sole successor; Taeko would have whatever she needed to live a comfortable life, but that was it.

Naoya would give his daughter all that she needed to strive as a sorcerer, or whatever else she’d decide to pursue.

He’d swore to love her and raise her, protect her from the cruelties of this world, do all in his power to make her happy… but most importantly:

Treat her as if she had been yours.

Essentially, dunno if I managed to convey that, yes; you were killed. an act that scared your family away and left Naoya without knowing what ever happened.

Also, I'm debating whether to write a small epilogue hehe. I have written a bit extra after this but decided to cut it out.

AND OF COURSE the name... originally I was going to name his wife Kayako but I've decided to take advantage of the animosity we feel against the name Taeko and there you have it :))) 🖕 bye Taeko.

Ngl this was sad for me to write; I always hated/enjoyed the topic of Naoya marrying off someone else because of reasons, though it was clear he always longed for you and viceversa. Or not. I just like angst 😭 and fortunately, this isn't the last time we're going to see something like this :) I do have something I'm working on, I just gotta connect the dots. I intend it to be quite short anyways.

Anyhow, thank you so much for sending in this ask!!! 😭 it was such a treat to torture myself with.

Take care, and hope to see you soon!!! ❤️❤️

[theallianceofcelestials]

Sooo, yesterday's MASM episode, huh?

Why is Moonblock, Moonstone, whatever you wanna call him, the way he is? He doesn't make any sense! I'm not going to talk about anything they do in gaming videos, because that's just the VA's bullying eachother, like frinds do.

Pulling Sun along on their adventures as a way to try and bond, helping him (however reluctant that help may be) whenever Sunny goes to him for something, fixing him up during the night, while Sun is sleeping, knowing and making him his favourite cookies (once), wingmanned him a handful of times (the one where he told Sun, Roxy and Foxy to go get ice cream, which turned into the Roxy and Sun date episode, was very sweet of him) ect.

But then turning around, calling him mean names, yelling at him, hitting him, laughing and encouraging when others are jackasses to him (like when Bonnie hung him from the ceiling, and he was up there for days. crying.), joining in on when a child as a form of playing, wanted to stab him - and yeah, sure, he may be made of metal and plastic, so he would've been mostly fine if the kid stabbed him, but just like with the rabbit shooting him with fake bullets, that still hurts, - stabbing him just in general with a sword, blowing him up, letting others shove grass and weeds down his throat and jumping on him from higher and higher with more and more force (which actually could've seriously injured him. they're heavy machines, who were not made to whitstand other heavy machines jumping on them), hitting him and letting him be hit by others with a shopping cart, that half-assed apology in 'Sun Begins His VILLAIN ARC With Eclipse??!!' episode, which kind of sounded condescending if you ask me, basically going "Welp, I tried" when Sun still refused to go back "home", and all the other other sins the little space rock has, but we'd be here all night and I have to watch my bloodpressure.

He clearly wants to be friends with Sun, or at least wants to spend time with him, as I already mentioned. He wants to be close-ish with him. And he claims he likes him, just like how he likes everyone else in the Plex.

But that just feels like he said it, one so Sun wouldn't leave, and two so he doesn't have to directly tell him he likes him.

He sometimes acts almost exactly like the stereotypycal *giggling and kicking feet in the air* "My crush/bestest friend forever and meee <3", but in the most assholeish Karen way of "If A bOy PuLlS yOuR hAiR aNd Is BuLlYiNg YoU! ThAt MeAnS hE iS cRuShInG oN yOu!"

Like, "Oooh I'll write me and Sun's name together as the password🥰! But throw in someone else's name aswell, so if he ever finds out I can just say it's me and my two friends!!"

Make it make sense!

This post was meant to be about how the way everyone acted in yesterday's episode 'Sun Continues His VILLAIN ARC And Plans REVENGE...' felt heavily like it was backtracking. But I kind of got sidetracked with talking about the little space rock.

How "Yeah, I only was an ass to you and abused, so you would reach your literal breaking point, snap and go join Eclipse, so I could try and catch him. Proud of ya, or whatever I'm supposed to say, here's a plush... Still going to shoot you. Because why not." and "Ohh ya know, stabbing people is just Foxy's way of showing he loves you! Classic Foxy teehee!" just felt like some poor attempt at damage control. Same with suddenly everyone wanting to hang out with Sun, the one time he wanted to be left alone.

I'm not counting Freddy, his IQ is room temperature on good days, and I mean it in the nicest of ways. As nice as can be.

But why do suddenly everyone else want to hang out with Sun, like he's suddenly the most interesting of people. Though they're still hitting him with gokarts, insisting they need to look at something at the back of his head (a bump which may or may not have even been there), and when he rejected the idea of them looking at his head, clearly uncomfortable, they surrounded him, held him down, and forcibly checked his head and then fixed(?) it.

And then when he wanted to be alone again to cry, they still wouldn't leave him be. The rabbit actually wanted to watch.

In short, because I truly lost where I was going with this post and just started ranting, yesterday's episode felt like everyone attempting to backtrack a little, but falling back into the comfortable habits, the little space rock confuses me (what do you want?! do you want to be friends? do you want to hold hands with him in the most romantic of ways? do you just view him as a sentient punching bag?! do you just want to keep him around and fix him up, so he can do all the daycare stuff so you don't have to?!), I hate the rabbit so much, same with the gator and the fox, disappointed in the others, and Sunblock. Deserves. Justice.

[panlight]

What is something that you thought when you first read the books and how did that develop over time?

My opinion of Renee was initially a lot more positive when I first read the books. She reminded me of my mom, and my mom isn't by any stretch of the imagination a bad or neglectful mom. She was just the kind of carefree extrovert who liked to try on new hobbies that Renee initially seemed to be. I also didn't read Bella's "I've been running the house since I was six" as literal, I read it as hyperbole. I read the "at least Phil will make sure the bills will get paid" as a joke, since my dad has always been forgetful (but again! in no way bad or neglectful!) and we make similar jokes. I still maintain that Renee wasn't initially meant to be terrible and as SM kept writing books she wrote her worse and worse. Again, I don't think SM would have named the miracle baby "RENEsmee" if she had a poor opinion of Renee. Remember, she wrote Forever Dawn right after Twilight; all the other books, including New Moon and Eclipse, came later. I've since accepted a more negative view of her based on how she has been written in Life & Death and Midnight Sun, and come to realize that maybe SM/Bella DID mean it literally when Bella was doing the taxes as a child.

I thought the James bite was going to be a Big Deal. Bella was, as far as we know, the first person to be bitten by a vampire and NOT die or turn, and that, to me, should have been a big thing?? But it's not? It never went anywhere? Other than to occasionally look at her silvery scar. I had initially thought it could have gone in so many interesting directions (did the experience work like an inoculation and now she's immune to venom? could they use her blood to great a cure? conversely would it slowly be turning her into a vampire? or give her some kind of powers?). I still feel like this was a HUGE missed opportunity, and while i still wouldn't have loved the halfpire baby and 'Bella's the best newborn ever' plot points, using this one-of-a-kind situation with James' bite could have at least been a way to explain them better. Maybe she was able to conceive BECAUSE she had that exposure to venom; or maybe that exposure was what made her able to skip all the newborn stuff. Like this one was thing where Bella WAS legitimately special and unique and SM didn't really do anything with it.

A minor one, but when I first read Eclipse and it talked about how Bree surrendered and "only Carlisle would think of offering" and I originally read that as Carlisle offered surrender to all the newborns and Bree was just the only one who accepted. I had this image of him standing on a rock in the clearing being like, "We don't want to fight! This isn't your battle! If you surrender we will spare you! We are merely defending ourselves and the town!" as the raging newborn horde is running toward him until Jasper and Emmett have to drag off the rock before the newborns overrun him. The Eclipse movie and Bree Tanner book ruined that interpretation, haha.

[wake-uptoreality]

DRUNK CONFESSIONS

Characters: Bokuto Koutaro, Oikawa Tooru, Suna Rintarou, Ushijima Wakatoshi.

༺BOKUTO KOUTARO༻

"One more!" His loud voice achoed through the small bar. It was his 9th cup already and you were getting worried. "Big boy, slow down there" you joked since it was the best way to talk with drunk Bokuto. Him not listening, gulped down whole liquid almost eating the cup with it. You huffed and crossed your arms. You knew this would happen. Waiting for the consequences, which meant drugging him out of bar until you reached his house. Your back already hurt just the thought of it.

"Ya'know, you look so pretty" you gasped as you felt him caressing your thigh. His fingers smoothly dancing on your skin, making your body tremble in seat. "B-Bo?" You question as you feel him getting closer to your face. "Too pretty~" he grins, sliding his hand on your back, pressing you against his chest. You felt your cheeks burning as he held you so close thet you could feel both of your heartbeat. "Love ya, Love you so much" he kissed your cheek and forehead. "Please be mine, y/n" maybe it was the small amount of alcohol, that gave you courage to kiss him deeply with passion. You will be his and his only.

༺OIKAWA TOORU༻

"I told you to not drink in my house!" Your annoying roommate has been bothering you since the day he first moved in. He is messy, whiney and a biggest child you have ever met. "Calm down, princess~ join me instead" he patted the seat next to him. "Jerk" you barked, slamming your bedroom door and throwing yourself on bed. You at least hoped that he wouldn't invite some girl and make out or something. Well for the safety of your ears you put your favorite music and grabbed your headphones. "That idiot will probably be too horny" you mumbled, your heart aching just a little bit.

You must have been too deep in thoughts, not hearing your door opening and closing. You were laying on your stomach, hugging one of your plushies, when you saw the huge shadow lulling over your body. "Wah-tooru what the-" "that should be me" "what are you talking about-" he grabbed your levi plushie and threw the poor thing in somewhere else, grabbing your waist and sticking his head between your boobs. "Always wanted to do this" "you damn-" "wait before you hit me... I love you, y/n. The first time I met you, I instantly fell in love with you, please be my girlfriend" you put your hand on his cheek, looking deeply in his eyes. "Tooru.." "y/n" "I-...I will never forgive you for hurting my Levi, you damn jerk!" "Yep!!"

༺SUNA RINTAROU༻

"Rin, It's 3am, why the hell are you calling?" You knew that you wouldn't pick the call if it was someone else, but when your phone screen lit up with the name of the famous fox, your inner couldn't just let you ignore the call. "y/n *hiccup*" heavy breathing of Suna filled your ear. "Rin are you smoking? If your couch hears about it, your ass will be kicked heh" you sat up on your bed, cracking your back and yawning in the phone. There was a few second silence after that. "Y/n~" he was still breathing the same way, making you worry a little. "Rin you alright? Are you hurt or something?" You asked nervously. "Yeah...hurt by you"

All the rumors were true that you two were dating. You still can't recall why you two broke up though. Maybe because there were too many misunderstandings at that time. At last you two agreed on staying as friends. "Rin, we talked about this" you sighed. Your heart beating just the thought of him still talking this sweetly and lovingly to you. "Y/n, the years without you was like a punishment *hiccup* to me, ya know more painful than spending time with Atsumu-"

(Piss-haired twin sneezes in his sleep)

"Please, I can't leave without you, let's be together again. That years weren't right time for us. I need you, I want you, I love you! I will change for you, please-just I need you beside me, in my life"

"idiot.." you sob in your phone. "Y/n..." "yeah?" The next you heard was loud snoring.

༺USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI༻

"Tendou-san, hi!" You greeted the red-headed. "Y/n-chan, Hi~ I see you are doing well" you smiled and hugged him, him returning the warm hug from you. "Where is Toshi?" Titling your head, you saw your boyfriend gulping down the large bottle of beer. "Pretty shocking, right? Who knew, we could see Wakatoshi-kun putting down his walls. I called you, because ahh he is too drunk, you should take him home." you looked at him dumbfounded then still at olive-haired. It was unusual sight, seeing your stoic boyfriend chatting so freely. You smiled, he looked so cute like this, his lips pouting when someone teased him.

You walked up to the table, bowing down to his friends and kneeling next to him. "Babe.." you shook him, catching his attention. He stood up from his seat, making a big heart with his big hands. "I love you" you flushed like a tomato, hiding your face while others started recording whole thing. He has never done anything like this before. "Please y/n, stop running from me" he put his chin on your head, pouting and becoming sad all of a sudden. "Toshi we are already together, love" "then let's get married" "hah?" He grabbed your hand. "Right now" "hah? right now, somebody help!"