#i know I'm being vague lmao i just don't want to bore people with the ins and outs of how shitty chronic illness is 😂

[kindahoping4forever]

miss ur fics :(

I appreciate that 🥺 And I promise I miss them too! I've unfortunately been dealing with some heavy personal stuff lately that has been taking up all my physical and mental energy. But! The good news is that a light at the end of the tunnel has finally appeared for my situation and I'm starting to let myself be hopeful that I'll be in much better shape in the coming weeks and can start easing myself back into the swing of things! 💙

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Three

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

*I say it's an OC, it's just a name and third person POV. I use minor character descriptions because I don’t get on with writing vague reader inserts/YN for long-form, story heavy fics, but I will generally try to avoid including race and body type or really any physical descriptors. I’m always open to feedback on my writing, or how to be more inclusive.

WC: 13k

Chapter Warnings: angst obviously what would this story be without it, poppy and nico having an overdue conversation, nico moping again with his big sad brown eyes, nico being jealous again, drinking, cursing, meddling friends, being stood up, mentions of controlling parents as always, a little touching maybe a little more kissing too and even more meddling friends

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

Previous Part (Chapter Two)

A/N: I have nothing to say honestly just hope you enjoy I really don't know why I struggled writing most of this despite knowing what I wanted to do with it I think just figuring out how I want certain conversations to go and how to get from a to b is pure stresssss I'm not entirely in love with it but what can you do also proofread her? I hardly know her

but if you have anything to say pls send it my way lmao I'd really like to hear any thoughts or opinions 💓

Poppy

Poppy was once told by her good friend, Kelsey, that she would be able to tell everything she needed to know about a guy by the way they answered one very simple question. 

If you could have any superpower, what would it be?

She thinks about it more often than she really should, if she’s honest with herself, but Kelsey’s rationale behind each potential answer is actually a stroke of rare genius - and Poppy often finds herself applying the logic to most people that she encounters.

Guys who say super speed are the ultimate red flag. No one wants a quick finisher, no matter how fast they may be in any other aspect of life. Some things specifically require time and patience. Sacrificing your partner’s satisfaction all to say you can run the world record fastest 5k is the ultimate ick.

There’s an argument to be made for the endurance choosers, it sure has its perks, but Poppy thinks it’s a boring pick. To be given the option of any superpower, and to choose perseverance, of all things? Get a life. 

Anyone who chooses x-ray vision is a certified pervert, obviously. The same could be said for those wanting to read minds, although most of the guys Poppy has seen in her life struggle to comprehend the things she says in plain words, never mind whatever nonsense is circling through her inner thoughts. 

Those who choose flying are one dimensional, rarely able to see beyond what’s right in front of them, because, if they could, they’d choose the much better option of teleportation.

Who chooses flying when you could just think about somewhere and instantaneously arrive? With your hair in tact and no risk of bumping into any territorial birds.

Teleportation is what Poppy would have picked if anyone would have asked her a week ago, for the mere fact that commuting anywhere is the bane of her entire existence, and if she thinks too hard about it or looks to much into it, it always has been. 

She associates it with sitting in the back of her dad’s Bentley as a child, a tangible, frosty silence lingering in the air between her parents after one of their many even-toned arguments disguised as discussions, the fresh pine scent making her car sick and the leather seats making the back of her thighs sticky. 

Or the fragile bones of her hand being crushed by her mother’s tight grip as they rode the Amtrak over to Manhattan, Priscilla sneering at anyone who dared step too close on the crowded carriage, Poppy being dragged throughout department stores in the name of mother-daughter bonding time, and clutching to a tiny consolation Macy’s bag housing a sparkly lip gloss like her life depended on it the whole way home. 

She thinks of all the hours of her life she’s wasted on the Palisades Parkway, no longer able to enjoy the scenic route whenever she has to drive back to her parent’s house in Alpine after having watched one too many crime shows where a broken down car leads to a girl’s face plastered all over the news.

Even driving to work can feel like hell when the traffic is bad, what should be a 30 minute drive sometimes turning into an hour, Poppy’s fingers cramping around the wheel and her feet itching to touch solid ground after too long.

Teleportation sounds perfect.

And, there’s even a romance element to it. Being whisked away to Paris in the blink of an eye, suddenly sitting outside a boulangerie, decadent, rich hot chocolate on a table in front of her and a plate full of pastries, all because she mentioned a slight craving for a pain au chocolat. 

Teleportation has always been the only correct, green-flag answer to the question. 

Until Poppy properly considered time travel, that is.

The concept of it has always been a little too much or her to handle - too many strange loopholes, too many bad examples from the sci-fi movies her brother had loved as a kid. Travelling back in time to when her parents were her age and accidentally capturing her adolescent father’s attention à la Marty McFly? Sounds like hell and horror to Poppy. 

But that was before she screwed everything up.

If she could have any superpower right now, currently weighed down with the burden of hindsight - which people have always told her is a funny thing, but she thinks is actually somewhat diabolical - she would pick time travel a thousand times over.

Because if human beings have a specific part of their brain that is dedicated to forcing them to sit and stew on their every poor decision for days on end - lets them rethink and regret everything until they’re blue in the face, and can’t think of anything other than how idiotic they have been - it should also offer the kindness of being able to go back and change what they so royally fucked up.

That’s what Poppy thinks, at least, as she throws herself down onto her bed, her back hitting the duvet in a whoosh and all she can do is stare at the ceiling and wonder how and when she became such a certified moron.

There’s a part of her that suspects it’s in her genes. Inevitable. Unavoidable. Nature and nurture, she was born and raised to be a full blown fool.

Poppy comes from a long line of privilege, and while it does take a certain element of intelligence to amass the wealth her family has, it also tends to go hand in hand with ignorance in its many forms.

Behind every fortuitous business move her father makes are a million other mistakes - failed ventures, bad investments, shoddy pieces of advice accepted from the untrustworthy snakes he surrounds himself with. Hidden beneath every rung of the social ladders her mother has managed to climb, there are the ugly faux-pas’ slipping through the cracks of a former, more unsavoury life she can never run too far from. And her brother - well, she suspects he’s just an idiot, there are no two ways about it.

She knows that she needs to stop blaming her family, though. This time, it’s all her.

She can’t blame her father for the way she overthinks, the man who makes every decision in life with the littlest regard for how anyone else feels about it. She can’t blame her mother for the way she places such little value on herself, the woman who walks into every room like she owns it and refuses to let anyone make her think otherwise.

Except maybe she can.

If she had the nerve to talk to a therapist, they might disagree - might say her overthinking comes from her dad’s lack of communication skills, a part of her brain always filling in the gaps of a half-assed, other side of any conversation with him. Or they might say her insecurities come from her mom constantly putting Poppy down while telling her to be more sure of herself - stop slouching, Poppy, no one will take you seriously with the posture of a candy cane.

She’d love to know where her need to repress her feelings so deep that she becomes an impenetrable, cold, dark fortress comes from. The need to push and shove when someone tries to get too close, because God forbid anything is ever easy when it comes to her affections.

It would have made the past 4 days since Nico had walked into her apartment and kissed the life out of her a whole lot easier. 

4 days spent reminiscing, rethinking and regretting every single thing she had said and done since their lips parted, since he had put his heart on the line and she’d whacked it away, full swing, as if too desperate for the victory of a last-bat home run.

If she could time travel, she’d do the whole thing over.

-

“Don’t go on that date, Mohn.”

She had read the words on his lips before they registered through her ears, the sound of her blood rushing throughout her body occupying every sense for a brief moment.

What the hell is going on?

Nico had kissed her. He’d grabbed her, pulled her into him, and she’s pretty sure he had made her heart stop for a good second - there’s no other justifiable reason for the way it had been reverberating against her ribcage ever since. 

And then he stood before her, a desperate, pleading projection playing in his dark irises, lips still slick from where her own had just been, cheeks flushed, shoulders rising with subtle panting breaths, waiting for a response to a question she couldn’t even remember hearing.

“W-what?” She’d stuttered, blinking hard and shaking her head as if to rattle her brain into whatever semblance of cognisance she could muster.

Nico had kissed her, and then wanted to talk? As if she had the brain power left for any kind of discussion after that?

He seemed proud of the mess he had made of her, lips lifting at one side, drawing her gaze immediately to every movement they made, so focused on the memory of how pillowy-soft they had felt against hers that she didn’t notice him stepping a little closer, raising a large hand to tuck her hair behind her ear until she flinched at the contact.

“Sunday, Poppy,” he had uttered, unfazed by her skittishness, “Your date, don’t go.”

She had blinked again, completely overwhelmed on every front. She could still taste him on her tongue, he was so close she could smell his cologne, tunnel vision only seeing him in front of her and the hand that cupped the side of her face in her peripheral, her heartbeat echoing through her skull and every nerve, every slight hair on her body, standing as if trying to close the distance between his body and hers.

It was the sensory overload that made her go against all other instincts.

“I can’t.” Her voice had sounded like it hadn’t been used in weeks, croaky and unsure, her next words stammered, “I can’t not go, I mean. I have to go.”

“You don’t have to go, Poppy,”

“No, I do.” That had sounded a little surer, the fog in her brain slowly clearing only for something more tumultuous to pass through in it’s place. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Nico blinked once, then again, frustration clear in the furrow of his thick brows as he seemed to stew on his next words, desperate to say the right thing. There was a prolonged, tense beat, before he had asked, “Have you ever thought we could be more?”

“More?”

“More than friends.”

If her heart hadn’t stopped when he had kissed her, it must have stopped then.

His back straight, eyes looking directly into hers, a hopeful, inquisitive gleam shining from within them - he had never seemed so sure of something for as long as she had known him.

Poppy couldn’t stop the little voice in her head questioning, where the hell has this come from?

“Have you?” She had asked with a eyre of disbelief.

 Not once in the years she had known him had he ever made it seem like they could be more. There had always been an unspeakable, undeniable barrier between them. They were friends. They’d always been friends. Just friends.

Friends who spent most of their free, personal time together, friends who bought each other sentimental gifts they’d never get for anyone else, who shared intimate details about their lives and their pasts, and kissed each others heads like a goodbye ritual. Friends who broke each other’s hearts, seemingly beyond repair, without explanation.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I mean,” He had paused, breaking eye contact for a second as if wracking his brain for the right answer, sensing a teetering tension between the two of them. “Yeah. Yes. I have.”

She had narrowed her eyes at him, weighing up the possibility in her mind that she wouldn’t have liked any response he gave to her, every prospective answer causing a flood of doubt and uncertainty to crash in rushing, destructive waves through her mind. “Since when?” She’d asked, trying to level her bite.

If he’d ever thought they could be more, what the hell have they been doing all this time?

“Since I met you, I think,” he had shrugged.

Wrong answer, again.

“And you only bring it up when I have a date with someone else?”

She watched a series of antithetical emotions pass through his features, understanding, confusion, acceptance, denial, resilience, cowardice. He had seemed to find the small margins between all of them, when he had come back with, “It’s not because of your date, Poppy.”

“Then why?” She tilted her head as she continued to analyse him, again not sure what she was looking for, or what she wanted to find. That something tumultuous was already whirling within her, too late to be stopped, and Nico could seemingly see the warning signs.

“Why are you getting mad at me, right now?”

“I’m not mad,” she had denied, not even knowing if she was lying or not, “I’m confused. 2 weeks ago, we weren’t even talking, Nico-,”

“You said you forgave me for that.”

“I didn’t-.” She’d cut herself off before she could say something that would upset him, the conversation spiralling so far out of control from the momentary bliss he had provided only minutes ago - but she was too far up shit’s creek without a paddle, there was no turning back. She’d been wanting to have a proper conversation with Nico all week, what better time than the middle of the night on what was now his birthday? “That’s not exactly what I said.”

He had taken a step back, lips parting with an unreleased gasp, the once-hopeful glint in his eyes transforming into hurt. “You don’t forgive me?”

“I didn’t say that either,” she sighed, wanting answers, not to cause him anguish. “Please don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then tell me what the hell is wrong? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t understand where this has come from, Nico! You come in here and kiss me out of nowhere and tell me not to date other people and I’m just supposed to blindly follow along when I don’t get what the hell is happening with you!”

“I think me kissing you makes it pretty obvious what I want to happen, Mohn.” He had tried to ease the tension, his voice level and steady, stepping forward with his hands raised in an attempt to calm her, but she had taken a slight step back, clearly unaffected. 

“It doesn’t.” She’d stopped looking at him at that point, keeping an eye on his feet to watch his encroaching steps. “Nothing about you is obvious. You don’t tell me anything and all I can think about is what I did wrong.”

If he couldn’t see the tears pooling at her lashes, he had to have heard the break in her voice - a sure indicator that she was close to crying - but his steps had stopped, feet seemingly stuck to their place on the hardwood flooring of Poppy’s apartment, and she could feel her heart shatter knowing he wasn’t persisting again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He tries to reassure her, but it’s no use.

Maybe she would have believed him if he’d held her while he said it, transferred the meaning through touch to her skin, gripping her with every word until she truly understood the weight of them.

“It had to have been something. You don’t just stop wanting to know a person for no reason, Nico, so what was it?” She made her way to her couch, perching on the edge of the seat with her knees pressed together, and looked over to where he remained standing.

She could feel her temper flaring again. 

How could he have the nerve to do this to her - to turn her world upside down in a matter of minutes - and not have the answers she needed to accept it?

“Poppy-,”

“I need to know. I can’t drop it and forget about it, and I’m sorry that I made it seem like I could, but if you want us to move on from this, if you want to come here and kiss me like that, and tell me you don’t want me seeing other people, I need to know what happened.”

“I-,” Nico sighed heavily, shoulders drooping, any confidence and bravado he had displayed after their kiss now a distant memory. “I don’t know.”

She had an immediate, striking thought, that maybe if she asked closed questions, he could give her an answer, and so, with misplaced courage, she asked, “Was it her?”

“What?”

“Your girlfriend. Did she ask you to stop talking to me?”

It was a thought that had been plaguing her for longer than she’d like to admit - unable to shake the idea that maybe Talia had seen one of the texts she had sent, had gone through Nico’s phone and seen any of their older messages, any photos he might have kept on his phone, maybe a memory had come up from snapchat, maybe someone had mentioned Poppy and her curiosity had been piqued. 

Poppy had always thought if she was dating someone, and they had a Poppy, she might feel some type of way about it. 

But her and Nico were just friends.

Nico rounded the couch, sitting on the cushion beside Poppy, their knees knocking as he reached into her lap and took her shaking hands in his.

“Do you really think I’d stop talking to you just because someone asked me to?” Their eyes had met again, sadness brewing in the dark coffee colour surrounding his dilated pupils, and a glassy film coating her own. “Poppy, I would never.”

“I don’t know what to think, Nico, because you won’t tell me.”

“Because it doesn’t make sense! I try wrapping my head around it, try coming up with some kind of explanation, but nothing I say is going to change what I did to you, Poppy.”

Her question before had gotten her an honest response, had elicited something real and undeniable within him - he’d never stop talking to her because someone asked him to. So it was his own decision, subconscious or not. Maybe she could help dig further, she thought.

“Why did you kiss me?” She asked after a beat.

“I,” Nico pondered over it before rushing his answer, a wave of emotion flashing across his face before his eyes locked on hers, ready to let her in. “Because I wanted to.”

That was a start - a simple question, a straightforward answer. 

“Was that the first time that you wanted to?”

“No.”

Poppy could feel some semblance of confidence coming back. Closed questions, concrete answers, she could keep this up.

“When was the last time you wanted to kiss me?”

She could have asked the first - she sure as hell wanted to know it, but if he’d thought of being more the entire time they’d known each other, there was a lingering possibility there were many times - and they would be there until sunrise if they started from the beginning.

“Finnegan’s.” 

“The bar?”

“We went there when we came back after we crashed out of the playoffs, do you remember?”

She remembered.

It had only been a couple of days before Nico had left for his summer back home in Switzerland.

Their loss in Carolina had been devastating, the boys came back broken and defeated, and all just wanted to drown their sorrows before they broke for their off-season. Poppy had been out with Nia and Kelsey and a few other friends at another bar when Jack had responded to her instagram story, saying they’d be at the Irish pub that was a staple within the team, and she should come over and join them.

She had made her way over pretty late, wanting to make sure her friends were okay without her, and arrived when most of the boys were completely shit-faced, past the point of tears and moping and deep into a mass state of hysteria and loud jubilation for the successes along the way.

She had found Nico in a booth in the far corner of the bar, head slumped over the back, eyes seemingly tracing the cracks in the ceiling until she crawled into the bench behind him, leaned over with her elbows resting on either side of his head, and took up his entire view. 

“What’cha doin’?” She’d asked, lips twisting at the sight of his dizzy eyes trying to correct themselves to focus on her. 

He’d quickly given up, pressing his eyes closed to shut out the risk of nausea taking over, the outer corners crinkling, the sides of his nose scrunching and his eyelashes fanning a shadow over his cheekbones - her own eyes were level with his lips, so he couldn’t really hide the way they curved at the quick glimpse of her.

“Suffering,” he had muttered, squinting one eye open to catch a brief, upside down glance of her. Nico was never this down after a few drinks. He was giggly, he was loud, he was touchy and clumsy - he was never the hide away in the corner sad type. “Wanna join me?”

“Always.” She affirmed, making her way around to his side of the booth and sliding in beside him until her bare thigh pressed against the somewhat scratchy linen of the pants he wore. 

“I’m probably not the best company tonight,” He remained in the same position, neck craning so the base of his head could rest atop the back of the seat, and his eyes closed - giving Poppy the perfect opportunity to properly look him over.

The few moments they’d had together, alone, over the past few weeks, he’d been pent up, stressed, overworked and on the brink of eruption, so this was the first time in a long time she’d managed to catch him without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Only, that weight wasn’t so easy to shift.

She saw it in the bags under his eyes, in the unkempt playoff beard he was yet to shave off, in the stuttered way his chest rose and fell with his attempts at deep, calming breaths. 

As she watched him, the corner of her lip tucked between her teeth in contemplation, she knew there was nothing she could say to make him feel better about this. He just had to feel it out, process it in his own way without her interference - but she wanted to be there, at least.

And as much as she wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he did the best he could, and led his team through one of their strongest seasons in recent franchise history, she wanted to provide him comfort in the quiet, too.

“I don’t mind.”

And so, with little trepidation, she placed a hand on his chest, over his heart, and rested her head next to it, glancing up to see the push of a dimple forming on his cheek as his arm stretched around her and welcomed her into his warm embrace.

“You wanted to kiss me then?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Didn’t seem like the right time, though,” he followed up with an answer to a question she hadn’t even asked, yet. “I was leaving too soon and I didn’t want you to think I’d just kissed you because I was drunk and upset.”

Her eyes moved to his lips, a question for herself whirling around in her head. Would she have wanted him to kiss her then? What would have happened in the aftermath? Where would they be now? Would she have thought that? Would she have spent her summer stewing over what it meant, and how his lips had felt against hers?

Before she had much time to think it over, Nico continued, being spurred on by such a distinct memory that he was rolling towards the answer she had been waiting for, and she wasn’t going to stop him to try and decipher her own feelings.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you when I went home, thinking about wanting to kiss you, or not kissing you, and what it all would mean, and I kept trying to distract myself thinking I could just figure it all out when I came back here but then I met Talia, and I felt wrong for thinking about you when I had her.”

That had made sense. Nico was always a guy that would do the right thing. If he had a girlfriend, he wouldn’t think of the prospect of something with someone else, even if that someone was Poppy, and that something was a culmination of years of pent up feelings finally coming together to form something potentially wonderful.

She didn’t quite need or want to hear the rest. Didn’t want to hear how he’d gone looking for a distraction, and found just that. 

Nico was loyal, and for him to maintain that essence of himself, he had to ignore the possibility of Poppy. Some subconscious part within him saw her as a threat to the stability he had with the perfect girl from back home, and he boxed her away to make room for what could be with Talia.

It stung, but he was right. Neither of them could change what had already happened.

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

She’d nodded after only a second, barely even thinking about it.

Jack’s words from New Years Eve rang through her, suck it up and move on.

Nico had his reasons, she had her answers. He wasn’t bored of her, wasn’t tired of her or annoyed by her. He’d been so caught up by his unspoken, untranslated feelings for her that he twisted himself into untangle-able knots that were only just starting to loosen up enough to be picked apart.

“Could you maybe say it?”

“Yeah, I could.” she had said through trembling lips, the hurt in his voice burrowing through her eardrums, lodging itself in her own throat, and dripping slowly but surely into the depths of her chest. “I will.” She had to be more sure, needing to erase any doubt she had planted within him. “I do.”

“You do?”

He still held her hands in his from when he had sat down, palms warm and slightly perspirant from his tight grip around her knuckles.

“I forgive you.”

His mouth twitched into a shaky smile, his eyes catching the soft light and twinkling with emotion, and she definitely wanted to kiss him, then.

She had wondered if this is what he felt when he’d kissed her before, this burning need. Her fingers twitched in his hold, her heart thudded in her chest, and her lips parted in anticipation, until she could finally slam the breaks on her torpedoing thoughts.

“It’s just a lot to process, and I don’t really know how I feel.”

She had wished she could take it back as soon as the words left her mouth, and Nico’s features had folded as he took them in. He broke eye contact almost immediately, head dropping to look down at their hands until he released hers back into her lap. 

“I get it.” He uttered, forcing a smile as he glanced back up at her, briefly. “I sprung this on you out of nowhere, I’m s-,”

“Please don’t apologise,” she interrupted before he could go there, knowing it would send her brain into overdrive if he let even the thought of regret fester between them, “I’m glad you did. I don’t want you to be sorry about it.”

Relief washed over the both of them in a warm, steady stream as he nodded, leaning into the back of the couch, legs spreading as an elongated sigh wracked through his torso. 

He ran a hand through his hair, and Poppy’s eyes flickered to the flex of his fingers, the strain of his wrist, the flash of protruding veins where his sleeve had pulled up with the stretch of his movements. 

His eyes closed, and she took him in just like she had that night in Finnegan’s bar.

She’d had an urge then, a desire even, to provide comfort - to share his burdens, make him forget the pain he had just endured, wash it all away with encouraging words, gentle touches. A shoulder to cry on, two ears to listen, and, albeit she didn’t entirely know it at the time, a whole heart that was his for the taking.

And take it, he did, held it all summer, bent it all sorts of ways out of shape up until New Years Eve, and it was still in his hands. Smushed, dented, squeezed to within an inch of his life, her heart was his.

It was up to her now to figure out what she wanted him to do with it. 

“I made a promise to my mom about the date, Nico, I have to go.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, seemingly resigned to the fact he had maybe been a little too lost in the moment to make such a crazy demand of her. 

“And I think maybe we both need a little time to properly think about what is happening here.”

“Time?” He practically shot up, alarm in his eyes.

“We’ve barely been apart all week, Nico, I think that might be why we’re both so,” she struggled for the right word - pent up, emotional, strung out, “Intense.”

She had known she was emotional, overthinking to the point of ruin, but maybe he was too. Maybe that’s what had led to the kiss, to the outburst of sentiment. They were both in the depths of a pressure cooker of emotions, and some space might do them good to gain a little clarity.

Maybe with a little more time to think on it, to consider what he was admitting to, have a little breathing room, and act more on something concrete than a fleeting in-the-moment feeling, he might change his mind. He deserved the opportunity to do so, she wouldn’t hold it against him.

“How much time do you think you would need?”

“I’m driving up to my parent’s house on Friday, so I would have been away for most of the weekend anyway, maybe we check back in on Monday and see where our heads are at?”

“4 days,” he muttered as if he’d just counted them in his head. “I can do that.”

“Yeah?” He had nodded in response, and there was something like hope that lingered between them, sharing small smiles and gazing through glassy eyes. “You’ll be so busy you won’t even get the chance to miss me.”

She believed it to be true - Nico had his family over, would be spending the latter end of the day with them, and had 2 big home games in a row to worry about. Poppy would be the last thing on his mind.

If she had blinked in the moment, she might have missed the way his observation slipped to her lips, lingered there for a brief second, and glanced back up to flicker between her eyes again. “Not possible.”

“Poppy, have you suffered some kind of brain injury I don’t know about?” Nia’s voice rings through the speaker of the phone pressed to her ear, already supposedly-styled hair fanned out around her as she lays staring at the ceiling, willing herself to get up and go before she’s late.

No matter how much she doesn’t want to go on this date, her mother will kill her if she hears anything other than a glowing review. On time, preened to perfection, polite and sociable. 

“Maybe I hit my head in my sleep at some point,” she thinks out loud, glancing back to the sharp edges of her bedside table and wondering if she could have thudded into it in the night.

Surely she would have a scar or a bruise.

“You must have,” Nia agrees, “That’s the only logical explanation why you’d ever consider telling the guy you’ve been hung up on since you first met him that you need time to think about how you feel,”

“Ni,” Poppy groans, “I called you for advice, not a lecture.”

“If you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes, and you my friend, are a dumbass.”

“In my defence-,”

“Nope!” Poppy doesn’t know what Nia is doing on the other end, but she hears something clatter as if being slammed down on a table in protest, “There is no defence, you’re an idiot.”

“I didn’t know how I felt about it, Ni,” Poppy sighs, sitting up and catching sight of herself in the mirror. She doesn’t know why so much of her time tonight has been wasted trying to look so good when she doesn’t even want to. When she’d gone to visit her parents, her mother had practically given her a full blown rundown of the guy she was meeting.

Tucker Lyon, she can’t help to instinctively roll her eyes at just his name, works in investment grade finance for one of the Big 4 - she hadn’t cared enough to ask which one. His family are property people, her mom had said, and own enough Manhattan real estate to hold some serious power. Priscilla had met his mother years ago at some luncheon in the city, and apparently the two had been in cahoots since then to set their children up.

Poppy doesn’t want to be set up with some walking red flag, biting her tongue over a plate of food too small to satisfy her hunger while he mansplains stocks and shares to her.

She wants to be in whatever bar the guys are holed up in, tucked under Nico’s arm, side practically glued to his, sipping cocktails and celebrating him like he deserves to be celebrated.

But instead, she can admit, she has been a royal idiot.

“I still don’t know, it’s all come at me full force and I don’t understand my feelings.”

“Bullshit!” Nia scoffs, “You knew you were into him the second he first flashed those dimples your way.”

She isn’t entirely wrong.

Poppy had once harboured a slight crush on him. In the very early stages of their friendship. One small enough that when she realised it was completely one-sided - and she was being delusional to ever think his cute nickname for her and his insistence on spending time only with her was anything more than his attempt to make a friend - she could swallow it down until it was barely anything.

She trained her heart not to stutter when he approached her, told her brain to shut up when he flashed her one of those perfect, all consuming smiles, and could cross her arms to restrain her hands from wanting to hold his whenever they walked side by side.

She’d become so good at suppressing her feelings, she’d forgotten she had them.

She had forgotten all the times they had hung out alone over the years, never second guessing all the looks and the touches, the times he’d let her stay over if it got too late to go home alone, and the times he’d waltz into hers like he owned the place.

She’d forgotten when she had seen him with Talia, always claiming the feeling in her gut was one of loss and reminiscence, not envy and bitterness.

She’d forgotten when the Hughes brothers had helped her move a couple months ago, and Luke had questioned the amount of Nico he was helping to scatter throughout her apartment. Pictures on her bookshelf, pictures stuck to her fridge with souvenir magnets from Swiss gift shops, a couple hoodies, Devils branded shorts and big t-shirts of his he’d come across in the boxes. 

“I didn’t realise you and Cap were so close,” Luke had picked a frame out of one of the boxes, the picture of Nico and Poppy at the Halloween party inside, and waved it in her direction as she stood with her hands on her hips, figuring out if she wanted to alphabetise or colour code the books she was displaying. 

“Huh?” Poppy tilted her head towards the tall boy, watching as he shook his curls back into place and ran a hand through them. He’d worked up a bit of a sweat lugging her boxes upstairs, and now that everything was finally moved, Jack had gone to get them food, and Poppy and Luke were getting started on unpacking the easy stuff. She looked to the picture in hand, reaching over and taking it to get a closer look. “I guess we were, I don’t really know.” She wasn't a good enough actress to properly pull off the nonchalance she was aiming for.

“You don’t know?” Luke scoffed, rifling through other pictures in the box - all framed, mostly of her and Nico, some just the two of them, some of them in groups, but always side by side. Always grinning ear to ear. “You’ve got like a shrine in here, PJ,”

“It’s not a shrine,” she had argued, “You don’t keep pictures of your friends? Sounds kind of cold, if you ask me, Moosey.”

“I keep pictures on instagram and my phone like a normal person.” He chuckled.

“Generational gap, you kids are done for when the cloud goes down, you know. Physical media is forever.”

“You sound like my mom.” Luke jibed, and true to his nature, unable to stop himself before he inadvertently crossed a line, he asked with a weird wiggle of his eyebrows, “So, you wanna keep Nico forever, huh?”

“Shut up, Luke.” If Poppy had something soft enough, she would have thrown it at his head. The photo frame in hand seemed like overkill, and she didn’t want to hurt the kid, just make him stop. She didn’t much like talking about him, what they once had, what they once were. Even if he did have the wrong impression of what they were. It was upsetting, and she didn’t want to get upset - not in front of Luke. “You can keep those in the box.”

Luke had reached out for the frame in Poppy’s grasp, had watched as she hesitated giving it back, as she looked down and took in the huge smiles on her and Nico’s faces, and as she made the decision not to put this one back. Maybe she could phase it out, wait until she took a nicer, more meaningful picture with someone else before she replaced that one.

“I’ll keep this one out. I look cute.”

"Sure." His sarcasm was not entirely appreciated.

She had heard him chuckle to himself as she stood the frame on one of the shelves, placing it between a scented candle she had no intention of ever lighting and a small faux lavender plant. Not shrine-like at all.

She’d forgotten about any suppressed feelings until Nico kissed her.

Until he opened up Pandora’s box, releasing all her pent up emotions to roam freely, creating chaos and causing havoc through every corner of her entire existence. 

For the past 3 days, she’s thought about him with everything she has done. 

On Thursday afternoon, sat alone in her office, going over emails and wondering what he would be up to with his family. Was he happy, were they having fun, did he think about her for a second?

On Friday evening, driving alone on the long winding roads to her parent’s house and listening to the commentary for the game on the radio. Making it to the house in time for the 3rd period, and seeing the team celebrate. Was he well rested, excited for his family to watch him play at home, did he look up into the staff suite at the Rock and wish she was there cheering him on?

On Saturday, retreating to her childhood bedroom after another tense family dinner, snuggling up with the dogs on her bed as she watched the game. Was he beating himself up, had he gone straight home on his own after the loss, did he have the same urge to call her as much as she wanted to call him?

Did he, on any of those nights, lay awake thinking about that kiss?

About how right it had felt? How he had exerted his subtle dominance over her with such ease, large hands encompassing her face and holding her to his lips like his life depended on it?

Did he think about where it could have gone if she hadn’t shut him down? Where they could be if he’d made a move before?

She’s been thinking about it. Non-stop thinking about it.

Thinking about that kiss, and the possibility of others - the moment in the bar, all the other potential moments he had wanted to kiss her and hadn’t. The fact that maybe her feelings had never been one sided, and she’s wasted years pushing them down for nothing.

“Do you think I made a mistake not cancelling this date?” She asks her friend in a moment of vulnerability, her mind reeling with the possibility that she has already fucked up what could be.

“No.” Nia assures her, surprisingly. She’s been calling her an idiot all night, what does she mean, ‘no’? “I think he needs to sweat a little, let him think about you out tonight with another guy, and come tomorrow, his mind will be made up.”

“You don’t think we might be overestimating how much it bothers him?”

“Don’t make me call you a dumbass again, Pop.” Poppy can hear the rolling of her best friend’s eyes through the phone. “And send me a picture of your outfit before you leave.”

Nico

Nico has never been so physically uncomfortable in his life.

For a man who plays contact sport for a living - has played it for a good chunk of his existence, and has suffered countless knocks and injuries, slept in one too many uncomfortable positions in planes, buses, trains and even hotel beds, and who’s face has had more than enough encounters with the wrong end of a pair of skates - that is saying a lot.

But every inch of him, every fibre of his entire being, feels irritated in some way.

It’s a feeling like unforeseen static shocks passing over every surface of his skin. Like little bugs crawling all over him and he can’t swat them away. Like random strands of fine hairs that can’t be seen by the naked eye but God, can he feel them. He feels them everywhere.

From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, he feels something prickling, stinging, burning. 

Itchy.

Like a scratch he can’t reach in the very middle of his back.

And it’s not like he doesn’t know what it is.

He’s felt it ever since he left Poppy’s apartment in the early hours of Thursday morning. He had hardly slept, getting maybe 3 or 4 hours in before his alarm shrilled from where it charged on his nightstand. 

He has tried to use the same coping mechanisms that get him through his bouts of homesickness - where he closes his eyes and tries to provoke a memory for each sense.

He pictures the views from one of his many hikes, endless fields of green grass, crystal clear lakes, winding footpaths and mountains that stretch as far as the eye can see. He imagines gathering around a fondue table back in his favourite restaurant, and can smell the freshly baked bread, can taste the melt-in-the-mouth flavour once it’s been dipped in oozing, melted cheese. He can feel the softness of the freshly washed sheets back in his childhood bedroom and can hear the chorused chirps of the birds outside his window in the early mornings. 

It’s a technique that has helped ground him in the past, and he had thought that maybe if he applies the same logic, it will dull the ache in his fingertips that yearn to reach for his phone and text the girl who has asked him for space.

If he thinks hard enough, he can still taste the sweet but subtle vanilla of Poppy’s lip balm. He can smell the fresh-cotton essence of her laundry detergent, can hear the melodic sounds she had hummed into his lips, can feel the softness of her skin on the pads of his fingers, can see, clear as day, the dazed expression etched into her features like she had gotten caught up in the fantasy too.

If it wasn’t so easy for him to mentally transport himself back, he wouldn’t have been able to make it 4 days without seeing her. 

He had known it would be hard, but, thankfully, he thinks he got himself enough of a fix to make it to Monday.

He’d taken all he could with just one press of his lips to hers, had taken more of Poppy than he had ever dared to take before, and his subconscious was clinging onto it for dear life, hoping with everything in him she could decide to give him more.

4 days.

He has never known time to be so cruel. For it to drag out every minute like it was an hour.

If his life had a remote control, best believe he would be jamming the hell out of the fast forward button. 4x speed, skip to the next chapter, not wanting or needing to know what happened in the in-between.

He’s always thought himself to have patience - good things come to those who wait, after all - but this had become the ultimate test.

He had tried to immerse himself in whatever was going on each day, hoping they would pass quicker, less painfully, but it had been no use.

His birthday had passed by in a dizzying blur. He’d had a late morning skate, had come home to his family waiting for him, had gone to dinner with them, caught up over Italian food in one of his favourite spots by his apartment, and had driven his parents, his sister and her boyfriend back to their hotel with the promise of dedicating some time to them before the game on Friday.

Every single thing had reminded him of her.

Being at the Rock and wondering where in the building she might be, and if she was reminded of him with the littlest things. If she was thinking about him, what she was thinking about him. Seeing his family, imagining her place at the table as they all exchanged laughter and stories over pasta and wine. Thinking about what she might contribute to the conversation, how she would get along with his sister, how they’d gang up on him and poke fun, but she’d hold his hand under the table and squeeze to let him know it was all in good humour.

In the locker room after the win against the Blackhawks, trying his best to get involved in the celebrations but just wanting to call her, to hear that she had watched, and was proud of him and the team. And even after the loss against the Canucks, he wanted to hear the same. He wanted to go straight to her place, the passenger seat of his car painfully empty as he drove himself home in complete silence. 

And he had tried his best not to get too into his head about the whole space thing.

Poppy was right, after all. Things had gotten intense.

He had been intense - marching over to her place and kissing her out of nowhere. As right as it had felt, it was stupid. It was hotheaded and impulsive and it wasn’t considerate of her feelings.

But, God, he was so caught up on her he couldn’t help himself. He should have seen in the days they had spent together prior that they needed to speak more about everything before he threw himself at her like a neanderthal. 

He’d only considered what conclusion he had reached, and as much as his conversation with the guys on the plane gave him an idea of Poppy’s mindset, some words needed to be exchanged before he planted one straight on her. The whole thing could have gone so much better if he just knew how to communicate everything with her properly.

Even before the kiss. Before New Years, before Talia, before Summer - if he knew how to speak about his developing feelings for her, this whole mess could have been avoided.

He wouldn’t be sat alone in a bar, yet again, as his friends surround him, partaking in the celebrations that are supposed to revolve around him, wallowing in self pity.

He wouldn’t be thinking about Poppy, out in some fancy restaurant somewhere else in the city, with some stick-up-his-ass loser who doesn’t deserve a second of her time, and imagining her giving him one of those earth shattering smiles - the one where her the outside of her eyes crinkle in the corners, and every time he sees it he imagines the lines settling there as she ages, and it’s always a version of the two of them, old and grey, side by side, smiling together.

He imagines her taking him back to her apartment, curling up with him on the couch Nico helped her haul up the stairs after she had found it for crazy cheap off of some sketchy ad on Facebook marketplace. He sees her slowly replacing all those pictures she has of her and Nico with pictures of her and him, phasing him out of her space like she would eventually phase him out of his life.

He thinks about her taking him to her bedroom - the one he had yet to see in her new apartment, but imagines it’s just like her old one; way too many pillows and throws, a thick, plush duvet that looks like she’s climbing into a cloud, and a beat up stuffed toy her grandmother had given her when she was young. 

He doesn’t want to wish that Poppy is currently welcoming someone into her life that doesn’t suit her, but he can’t help himself.

He hopes this guy is late - and doesn’t even apologise for it. He hopes he orders off the menu for her, or criticises her choice of wine for not pairing with her choice of food like a complete snob. He hopes he’s awful to wait-staff. He hopes he’s type of guy who writes a suggestion on the tip line of his receipt instead of leaving a minimum of 20%. He hopes he chews with his mouth open, spits when he talks and scrapes his knife along the ceramic of his plate as he cuts his food, causing that toe curling sound that makes Poppy want to scream.

He hopes he doesn’t offer her his jacket, because she always refuses to take one out. He hopes he doesn’t think to give her a piggy back, because she always wears shoes out she knows she doesn’t want to walk in, but always wants to walk home if it’s nice out. He hopes he walks on the inside of the sidewalk, leaving her to the dangers of walking roadside, and walks too quick for her to keep up with little regard for how she likes to take her time on a night and stretch the evening out. 

He even hopes he smokes. Poppy hates smokers. And if, God forbid, they kiss, he’ll have smoker’s breath, and she won’t want to do it again. 

She won’t stand in front of him, eyes glazed over, lashes fluttering, brows furrowing, lips still pouting and fingers twitching to reach back out, yearning for more.

She won’t even kiss him back.

Not like she had kissed Nico. Not like she had clutched at his shirt like she wanted to hold him close to her forever. He wouldn’t get to hear that sweet, subdued sound she had made when his tongue had swiped tentatively at hers, or feel that slight pressure of when her lips had closed around it, sucking almost at the muscle before opening back up to allow for more of a taste.

No one else can get that.

No one else will savour it like Nico has, thinking about is for days on end, replaying the moment over and over until he has perfect recall of every small detail.

It’s probably a good thing she hasn’t shared much detail about this date, Nico thinks as he swirls the ice around his empty drink, sat right at the bar away from the sectioned-off area that Timo had rented out for the party.

If he knew more about it - about the who, about the where - he probably would be in a cab by now, knowing he was crossing a line but unable to do anything about it, his will outweighing any common courtesy just as it had a few nights ago. Or he would have spent the last few days in a google deep-dive, trying to figure out the kind of man her mother would approve of. Enough to set her up, at least - he doubts Priscilla Jensen entirely approves of anyone.

Nico finally makes eye contact with the bartender, and as she starts to make her way over, he feels like a divine intervention occurs - an arm falling onto the bar top beside his, a glimmer of metal flashing into his dark eyes - the reflection bouncing from a bracelet that is welded around the base of a slender hand.

“I’ll take another of these,” he lifts his glass when the bartender arrives, gesturing to the old fashioned he’d somehow landed on over beer tonight, “And whatever she’s having, please.”

 “Vodka diet coke, please,” a voice rings out from beside him, and once the bartender busies herself with the order, she asks, “Shouldn’t I be the one getting you a drink? I heard it’s your birthday,”

“Why should either of us pay when it’s going on a tab?” He chuckles, angling his body better to face her. 

“Ooh la-la, a tab,” Nia mocks, “Now I feel like I’m a part of an elite club!”

“I find it hard to believe you’ve never had your drinks put on someone else’s tab before.”

“Not the New Jersey Devils captain himself, it’s such an honour!” She raises a manicured hand and presses it to her chest, a playful smile etched into her features. 

“Did you come over here just to poke fun at me?” Nico asks, touching on the dynamic that has long been between the two of them. She mocks him, mostly all bark and no bite, he takes it on the chest, knowing she’s doing it from of her warped version of almost sibling-like love, and Poppy usually acts as the mostly-unnecessary mediator, dividing her attention between them both. 

“Of course I did,” she affirms, “You looked all mopey and miserable, how could I not?”

“How is me waiting for a drink ‘mopey’?”

“Uh, let me think,” she taps her finger to her chin, before lifting it to point at each feature she references, “The huge pout on your lips, your giant caterpillar eyebrows all slanted and frowny-,”

“Forget I asked,” he mutters, lifting his lips into a quick smile and thanking the girl behind the bar as she brings them their drinks. “Didn’t know you’d be out tonight,”

“I’ll be sure to send you an e-vite to my google calendar when I get home later.”

Nico’s throat tightens slightly at how similar Nia and Poppy are - always quick with a response, most of the time sarcastic, most of the time able to elicit a genuine laugh to rumble from the depths of his chest. “I see why you and Poppy are so close.”

“Hm,” she hums, making a show of checking her phone, “You barely made it two minutes, but it could be a new record.”

“A new record?”

“For how long you can go in conversation without mentioning her.”

“She’s your best friend, the one person we have in common, it’s normal for me to bring her up, Nia.” He reaches for his drink to take a gulp, hoping the ice might make his throat feel a little better.

He doesn’t even know why he’s denying his lack of willpower when it comes to Poppy - 2 minutes actually seems like quite the achievement when he thinks about how long he’s restrained himself from reaching out over the past 4 days. Nia approaching him like this has been the perfect excuse to think about her - to talk about her without feeling like he’s overstepping or assuming.

He could use this to his advantage.

“Is she a good kisser?”

Or not.

He chokes on his drink, thankful the liquid isn’t coming out of his nose with how much he hadn’t been expecting that question.

“She looks like she would be. I’ve always thought about it but there’s never been a right time to try it out. Maybe I should take a leaf outta your book and lay it on thick and fast when she least expects it.”

How he even thought he could gain advantage in this conversation is beyond belief. He’s out of his depth with Nia, as usual. She isn’t afraid to call him out - she never has been - and she’s the one person in the world Poppy would confide in. Of course she knows about the kiss.

“Is that what she said, I laid it on thick and fast,”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, lover boy.” She chuckles, picking up her cocktail and stepping away from him, “Thanks for the drink, Nico, try to enjoy the rest of your birthday party.”

“Wait!” He reaches out to stop her, not wanting to let a golden opportunity slip from his hands so easily. “You would have bought me a drink before, for my birthday?”

“I think you earn about 5 times my annual salary in a month, so probably not.”

“How about you answer a question for me?” He proposes, “As a gift.”

“I could,” she sighs, sitting down in the stool beside him, “But I heard you get touchy after gifts.”

He immediately regrets asking, but not enough to let her go. He’s come this far, and he has 4 days worth of questions he desperately needs answers to.

“Funny,” he gives a condescending smile, which clearly pleases her as she gives a genuine one back, lifting her spare hand to gesture for him to carry on. As if it’s that easy to narrow down all the things he wants to ask her.

One question. 

What did she say about the kiss? Did she like it? Would she do it again?

What did she say about him? About how she feels? About what she wants?

Where is she right now? What did she tell Nia about the date? About the who?

“The guy she’s out with,” he can’t even bring himself to say the D word, “Is he nice?”

The look she gives him is almost pitiful. In fact, there is no almost about it. She clearly thinks he’s pathetic, but it’s too late to retract the question now that it’s out there.

“I don’t think so.”

He doesn’t like the way his stomach turns at her answer.

He had wanted this, right? For him to be a gratuity-withholding, uncouth slob with bad breath. 

But the thought of her being out with someone that has the potential to hurt her, hurts him. His chest feels tight, his head feels muddled, and that everlasting itch returns to the tips of his fingers - the weight of his cellphone becoming that much heavier in his back pocket.

“I mean,” she carries on with a shrug and reaches for her own phone, “He was a no-show, so we’ll never actually know for sure.” She swipes at her phone until she brings up her message thread with Poppy, turning up the brightness to show Nico the picture she had asked her to send earlier. 

It’s a selfie taken in the overly tall mirror she had once made him pick up from Ikea, claiming it wouldn’t fit in her car and his was much bigger, and he doesn’t know why his first instinct is to scan the background just to confirm his earlier intuitions about her bedroom. Too many pillows, cloud-like duvet. He can’t see the stuffed toy, but he assumes it’s somewhere in there.

Poppy looks unbelievable. 

Her dress is short, like the one she had worn on New Years, fits snug around her waist and emphasises her curves in all the best ways. Her legs seem to go on for miles, adorned in knee high boots no doubt to provide some semblance of warmth. Her hair is pulled back, and she wears gold jewellery - rings, some small hoop earrings, and he’s only just able to stop his fingers reaching out to pinch at the screen because he can see the gemstone bracelet without the need to zoom in.

“Can’t be that nice if you’re standing up a girl that gorgeous, huh?” Nia asks, suggestively, leaning her chin into the palm of her spare hand as she looks up at Nico. “Some guys just don’t know how good they’ve got it.”

He figures he actually should be embarrassed about the relief that floods through him - washes over his entire demeanour, expression changing from defeated to victorious in a matter of mere seconds.

The crease that seems to have permanently formed between his brows smooths out, posture corrects itself, and his lips even almost turn up into a smile.

There’s a childish, territorial voice within him that wants to exclaim, Thank God! But he’s grateful that he’s able to mute it.

And, despite being privy to Nia’s games - despite knowing exactly what trap he is being lured into, what he’s about to fall for - he can’t help but suggest, “You should tell her to come out.” Because, despite knowing he had taken the bait, he can’t find it within himself to care. “I think I asked her one too many times to ask again.”

The one thing he had twisted himself into knots over since first hearing her utter the word date, hadn’t actually come to fruition.

There is no date. There is no uncouth slob.

There is Poppy, dressed as pretty as she is, practically waiting for someone to show her a good time. 

He can do that. He wants to do it - to be the someone that’s good to her.

“Oh, should I?” Nia asks, a knowing smirk causing her lips to twitch mischievously. She’s been playing him this whole time, and once again, he doesn’t care. “I don’t know, she seems resigned to spending the evening on her couch watching New Girl,” she sighs dramatically, clearly looking for incentive - once again, reminding him too much of the girl he longs for. “I don’t know if there’s much convincing to be done.”

“I’ll add you to the tab for the night.”

Rookie mistake, offering something up so quick.

“Is that all my efforts are worth to you, Nico, a few measly drinks?”

“What do you want?”

“I’m actually out with a client tonight,” she looks back somewhere toward the other side of the bar, Nico can’t even bring himself to follow her gaze. “Been trying to sign them to my agency for a while, and if I can fix this deal, I’m up for a promotion.”

“Nia,” he warns, not liking how long this story is becoming. Forget good things come to those who wait. He’s waited long enough. “What do you want?”

“They’re big Devils fans, I think a night with the team could really open them up to the benefits of working with me.”

“Bring them into our section.”

“And maybe some tickets, too.”

“Fine.��

Nia gives him a triumphant smile, “Great, I’ll let them know.” She salutes him as she stands back up, gathering her drink and phone between the fingers of one hand before backing away. “Nice doing business with you, Captain.”

“Aren’t you gonna text her?”

“Oh, Nico,” she jeers, using her free hand to grasp him by the chin. “Dear, sweet, naive Nico,” she gives his head a subtle shake before patting at his shoulder condescendingly, “She’s already on her way.”

If anyone asks, Nico isn’t admitting to keeping an eye on the door since Nia had made her way back over to her side of the bar, but he knows as soon as Poppy has arrived. He watches her make her way over to her friend, watches the two of them embrace and talk between themselves for a good minute. He watches and waits until her eyes meet his from across the crowded room, and it’s like everything else stops.

He’d somehow managed to immerse himself in the party spirit since he had found out she was coming, fitting back into the group, toasting along with them, engaging in conversations with his teammates, his mood vastly improved in comparison to earlier in the night - of which he’s sure Timo is relieved after his short-lived exile from Nico’s good graces — but everything fades to black when he sees her lips curve upwards from afar.

Someone is talking beside him - hopefully not to him, he thinks, he doesn’t remember being mid-discussion with anyone - but it’s just drowned out mumbling right now, and all he can do is tilt his head toward the doors that lead to the bathrooms, and wait for her to respond. When she nods and separates herself from Nia, he excuses himself from the group, edging out of their section and following her path, losing her a little in the thick crowd of people - the bar still packed from where they had played the Giants game earlier.

When he gets through the doors, he’s thankful no one else is lingering back there - no rowdy queue for the bathroom, no staff, no one but him and the girl who seems to be holding his heart like a hot potato, not knowing the best way to carry it without getting burned.

“Hi.” It’s a weak starter for a heavy conversation, but if he’s honest with himself, she’s taken his breath away.

The picture from before hadn’t done her justice. She’s a little worn into her look for the evening now, hair not so neat, skin a little shiny, lipstick faded - but this is exactly how he likes her, especially when he takes in the way her eyes gleam and her cheeks puff out with her smile.

He makes a conscious effort not to let his eyes drift directly to the smile - to her lips, which even the thought of them elicits such a vivid memory.

“Surprise!” she sings quietly, arms outstretched and hands shaking theatrically.

He steps toward her with his hands behind his back, fingers clasped together until he’s confident that his knuckles turn white, fighting the urge to curl his arm around her waist and pull her into him, needing to be closer. He watches intently as her eyes flick down to where his hands should be.

She backs into the wall behind her, not to escape his approach, but more to prepare herself for it - like she’s settling in and embracing it.

She isn’t running. She isn’t pushing.

She’s waiting.

“I’ve missed you.” Nico wastes no time in telling her the truth - telling her what she’s refused to believe every other time he’s said it, but he can tell with the tilting of her head and the rounding of her eyes that understanding has settled within her. She has no comeback, no it’s only been a few days, and he thinks she must have felt the drag of them in the same way.

“I’ve missed you, too.” 

Whatever anxiety has rooted itself deep inside him for the past 4 days dissipates almost immediately. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” He admits, without shame or reluctance. After Poppy had helped him overcome whatever had been censoring him before, there is no point now in holding back or beating around the bush. “You look so good, Mohn.”

A rush of confidence allows for him to close the gap, standing right before her as she leans against the wall, neck craning ever so slightly to look up at him. He still won’t touch, hands laying against the stone at either side of her hips, not daring yet to let even a sliver of his finger graze at her flesh.

“You look good, too.” She breathes, eyes glancing down to do an appreciative once over of his outfit, and he doesn’t miss the glint of pride cross through her eyes when she catches the glimpse of the gold that peaks out from the neck of his sweatshirt. 

“I’m sorry about your date.”

“Are you?” Her lips twist into a knowing smile. It’s an example of one of her many traits that he loves - she can detect his bullshit a mile off.

“Mmhm,” he nods, “I’m sorry a world exists where any man is stupid enough to stand you up, Poppy.”

“I’m the stupid one,” she argues, and he misses her gaze as soon as she takes it away, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment. “I should have listened to you and cancelled in the first place.”

“I was stupid to ask that.”

“Maybe we’re both stupid.”

“Definitely.” He probably shouldn’t be agreeing to her calling herself stupid, but it comes out before he can think too much on it. They’ve both wasted too much time. 

“Did you have a good birthday?” She asks, and a slight movement between them catches his eye, her fingers twisting together as if she’s withholding her touch, too.

“It’s better now.” He smiles fondly as she rolls her eyes. 

“How are your family?”

“They’re good.” He doesn’t want to go into too much detail about how shamefully miserable he has been over the past few days - doesn’t want to tell her how his mom had called him out on his lack of contribution to conversations, and he’d managed to pin it on the stress of the season. She still raises a brow at his insufficient answer, and he expands before she can tell him off. “Everyone but Luca made it out, my sister had to go back already for work, but my parents booked a trip to Halifax to visit the Phillips’, I lived with them when I played up there, they have a few friends to visit in Canada but they’ll drop back to see me again before they fly home.”

He feels the tickle of soft fingertips at the inside of his arm, slowly grazing down as he speaks, and as he watches Poppy, he thinks she must not realise she’s doing it - letting intuition take over as she’s distracted by the conversation. He lets her take the lead on initiating any touching, and it takes all the restraint he has left not to barge through the door she’s attempting to slowly eke open. She’s the only person in the world who could make him audibly hear the metaphorical creaking.

“Did they get to watch you win?”

He doesn’t even know why he finds himself grinning at the question, but the tone in which she asks it bears a hint of pride. She had watched the game on Friday.

“My dad was pretty much in the stands in full gear, everything but the pads and skates, and my mom was repping Foundation merch, she’s run off across the border with my beanie.” He likes the way her face lights up.

“I’ll get you another.” She raises her other hand to card her fingers through his hair, and, for once, he’s thankful not to be wearing any sort of hat. The soft scratch of her nails is soothing, and he just about manages to stop himself leaning into her touch and purring like a cat.

That would be embarrassing.

He feels outnumbered, both of her hands on him, and it feels unfair not to be touching her - so when his thumb extends itself on the wall just beside her hip and strokes at the soft fabric of her dress until it’s softly digging in, he watches intently for any hesitation before he lays a palm flat against her side.

It feels like things are progressing both torturously slow and overwhelmingly fast at the same time. His heart feels like it’s slamming into either side of his ribcage, and like nothing else occupies his chest, the sound of it echoing as if banging on the walls of a deep, empty cavern.

“Did I already tell you how much I missed you?” He honestly can’t remember, but he’ll tell her again if he needs to.

The hand that had run through his hair rests now on the side of his head, her thumb swiping softly at his cheek as she cups the side of his face, and before he can even make sense of what is happening, he’s being pulled forward. 

He bends to her advances with quick reflexes to avoid clashing, and their noses bump just before their lips meet.

Her chest rolls forward until it presses into his, and both his hands grab at her sides to pull her flush against him, legs tangling, hips pushing together, bodies touching everywhere possible all the way up to their mouths. 

He gives her all the control otherwise, allows her to determine the pace, responding to her every move and every touch with fervour and heat. She pulls at him, one hand grasping at his sweatshirt and the other cradling the side of his neck, and he quickly lifts one to stifle the blow to her head as she collides back with the wall, barely noticing the pain where his knuckles meet the stone.

Their tongues press together at the same time, and Nico doesn’t even realise his lack of patience got the better of him until their battle for dominance kicks off between their lips.

He can taste the same vanilla lip balm, can smell her signature coconut scent, can hear soft, subtle moans, can only see the back of his eyelids, not daring to open them, just wanting to feel. And he can feel everything. 

He feels the softness of her hair beneath the hand that is protecting her head from the discomfort of resting against the hard surface behind her, can feel the skirt of her dress bunching up in his grip, can feel her touch, fingertips dancing at the the base of his skull, thumb pressing into his jaw, her other hand making that same grabby gesture at the thick fabric covering his torso, squished between his heart and her chest, and he thinks he can feel the thump of her own heart on the other side.

He can feel her thigh pressed between his, the friction causing a heat to build deep in the pit of his stomach, swirling and whirling down, down, down until it culminates into the hard press of his hips into hers, and a rushed gasp combined with a guttural groan causes their lips to part.

They take deep breaths in unison, their chests bumping with every inhale, and he tries otherwise not to move.

He opens his eyes to find hers still closed, scrunched shut, even, and he tries not to be selfish - ignores the need to get a good look at her, to have this version of her ingrained to his memory too - and attempts to coax her back to him.

“Poppy,” he sounds just about as breathless as he feels. “Are you good?”

She hums in response, a subtle nod given, but he needs to hear her say it, and he tells her as much with a quick squeeze to her hip. Her eyes flutter open, gleaming and bright, framed by thick lashes and crinkling slightly at the outer corners as her lips turn up into a mischievous grin. “Better now.”

His chest feels like it’s about to burst open, like there’s a bear within him that is going to break out and pull her into its clutches, dragging her back safe to her home in his heart.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks, because he has to - he doesn’t care if it’s rude to leave his own birthday party, doesn’t care that he’s been the most ungrateful person in the world all night.

He’ll make it up to Timo, get him something big the next birthday of his that rolls around. Throw him a party. Or he’ll take care of the tab the next time they’re out. Maybe even let him have the window seat the next time they’re on the same plane home. 

Except, he won’t be doing any of that. He’ll be taking the reins on booking flights and putting Timo straight into economy, smack-bang in the middle of a row surrounded by a family of 5, screaming kids, arguing parents, the back of his seat being kicked the whole 8 hours to Zurich.

Because, just as Poppy’s swollen lips part to accept his advances - as her chin lifts, about to drop with a big affirmative nod, and he’s about to get everything he’s wanted the past 4 days and beyond - the doors to the back swing open, and his 6 foot teammate stumbles through, arms outstretched as he notices the two of them practically intertwined.

“Here you are!” He exclaims, voice booming in comparison to the soft breathy tones he and Poppy had been previously speaking in. “Poppy, you made it!”

“Hi Timo,” Nico feels her retreat, feels her legs brush past his and back to her own space, her hand on his chest now the only part of her that touches him, and he follows her lead, taking his hands back and trying not to clench his jaw or his fists as she converses with the man who was once his friend. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright, should be back on the ice in a couple weeks.” Timo had suffered an injury in one of their games at the back end of December, and hasn’t been fit to travel, and Nico finds an unspeakably bitter part of himself wishing it was something to do with Timo’s legs that were injured so he couldn’t have interrupted their moment. “Glad you’re here, this one has been miserable all night.”

He can’t be this oblivious, Nico thinks. Why is he still here? Why isn’t he retreating back to the bar and leaving the two of them to whatever he had clearly barged in on.

And when Nico looks back to his teammate, his long time friend, he sees the oh-so-evident glint of mischief and disobedience in his grey-blue eyes.

He is getting his own back.

Nico knows he was petulant to blame Timo for Poppy not being invited, knows there was nothing he could have done to change her going out on a date, or them not speaking for months while he was with Talia.

He doesn’t need him to enact his revenge to see he was wrong to ignore his texts, or to mope around at the party he had put so much effort into. 

He tries to give him a pleading look to stop whatever he is trying to do, but it’s no use.

“The guys will want to see you, Poppy, Jack’s beating himself up about his shoulder, could use a friendly face.”

“Oh,” Poppy casts a glance back to Nico, and he gives her a nod, implying that she go see to her friend. “I’ll go find him.” 

He can wait. He’s waited 4 days. He’s waited years, in fact.

And, after that kiss, he knows he won’t have to wait much longer. 

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Nico mutters in their shared native language once he’s watched Poppy disappear through the doors to the bar, with a quick glance back and an apologetic smile before they closed. 

“Just saving my brooding captain from being arrested for public indecency,” Timo shrugs with a shit-eating grin as he passes Nico and heads toward the bathrooms further down the hall. “You’re welcome!” He calls back in English, raising his hands and giving a patronising thumbs up.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face and wishing it was Poppy’s in its place.

It’s just an hour, maybe two, in the presence of his friends. Drinks, music, everyone in a good mood for the most part. It’s hardly like he’s walking out into a press conference after a 5 game losing streak and about to have all the blame placed upon his shoulders. 

It’s a party. 

Poppy’s here.

He can do this.

He can wait.

Next Chapter

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw or if I forgot you I'm a muppet tbh)

[hekateinhell]

I just need to get something off my chest real quick, there's really no need to read this unless you want to because you're bored lmao.

So I used to be really good at answering the asks I got. I wouldn't say I answered all of them, but I think overall I had a good ratio for a long time! And I loved it! I think the asks feature is the best thing that tumblr has to offer as a social media platform (god knows just about everything else sucks).

I loved getting asks and answering them and it's a great way to talk to others in our little fandom bubbles and trade thoughts and insights with one another. My mental health did take quite a few hits in the past several months, and part of that was real life (school, sickness, death in the family) and part of that was bullshit fandom drama.

But it just occurred to me yesterday that the reason I'm nowhere near as prolific in answering the asks I get is because I have always put so much effort into putting disclaimers behind all my meta, walking on eggshells so people won't throw tantrums every time I share an opinion they don't like.

And you know what? That just made me an nervous, erratic person afraid of her own tumblr shadow. The thought of having to do all the work to put ten thousand disclaimers behind everything I say so some asshole won't vague me because I accidentally hurt their feelings just made me not want to reply to anything at all. It's fucking exhausting having to think of every scenario in which people might interpret whatever you're saying (about fictional characters may I remind you) in the worst light possible.

In the end all that time and effort I put into censoring myself—because I try to be a nice person, I don't want anyone to feel bad because of me, regardless of the fact that that's been never my intention—in the end none of that mattered! There's people that have been vaguing me for almost two years now and it's not like I go seeking out this information but it's a small fandom and I stumble over it on another blog or some shit every once in a while.

Agonizing over whether or not some random is going to interpret everything I say in the worst possible faith and have a fit on main about my shit takes and make a block list of people who interact with my posts is just so stupid honestly, and trying to censor myself didn't do me a shred of good. People still regularly call me names and insult my intelligence because of the characters I ship, the meta I write, and the kinks I enjoy talking about. It doesn't even matter if I've been active recently or not, they're still mad about stuff I said ages ago! I can't win!

So from now on I'm just to do my best to break this depressing old habit and be online without being apologetic and diminishing my own opinions, answer asks however the hell I want without feeling obligated to coddle a bunch of grown ass adults, and if people want to cry about it, there's a box of tissues in the corner. Go nuts. ♥️

[clonehub]

Learning about your ocs has been fun! I was wondering if you have name origins for the clones?

OH BOY anon you've accessed the CHCU (clonehub cinematic universe) DEEP LORE

Waaaaay early in development, around the time that I a) watched less anime and b) started getting more in tune with being Igbo, I'd designed the clone's names to have short and long forms. Bliz would be "Bliz" for short, but then something else as a "full name" that sounded Igbo (to me, at least). Everyone on CS was like this. Kiki would have named them as part of a long and tricky process for all of them becoming "family".

However, then I had another perspective shift and I thought to myself, "Well, first of all coding them as such wouldn't work, secondable a Jedi naming like seven different clones? No." I wanted them all to have more of a say in their names, their origins, and their personal meanings, so that concept was quickly dropped.

Marik chose his name because it sounded nice to him. Edger as well. Ratchet used to be a noisemaker and thus he was dubbed that by his old squad in the 501st, but his personality's changed quite a bit. Also this was before "ratchet" became a classist and misogynistic and generally anti-Black term in popular language lmao.

I wanted some of their names to sound less "generic" or noun-based the way that clones' names in canon do (hardcase, kickback, etc). Hence, again, Marik, Edger, Ratchet, and Cord.

Actually Cord's name came about because when s1e16 of the clone wars was airing and they had the mystery clone (slick), my brother and I didn't know what his name was (obviously). So we dubbed him Cord until we got a name. And now I'm using it for my guy.

In-universe, Ridge chose his name because he thought it sounded tough. He was the runt of his squad, he was slow, he was picked on, and he was being abused by the drill sergeant in charge of their cohort. He wanted a "leave me alone" name, but him being your typical child, what sounded Tough and Scary to him back them is really just a normal name. I think at some point he also would have been named Ridge because he had a mohawk, also so he could look tough. Now though he just has an undercut (though in my head I do still sometimes see the mohawk).

Once upon a time, "Bliz" was short for "Blizzard", but I like how just Bliz sounds. Often, peope misread it as "blitz". He, Brucer, and Bimmie had an alliteration thing going on that I liked.

See now Jax is special because his name is deliberately generic. He chose it because it sounded decent as a name. There wasn't any emotional journey towards it like with Ridge, and there wasn't a quirky backstory to it like with Cord. Jax is Jax because Jax is normie, it's run of the mill, it's boring. Jax as a character is meant to be the Most Average clone you can imagine, besides the crippling anxiety and baldness. He's a nobody, he thinks he's nothing, he hardly even thinks he's a person worthy of desires, and he's got a big 'ol crush on Kiki. In some ways, some of the critiques people in his life have of his "runaway loyalties/feelings" is along the lines of "Who do you think you are? You're not special".

Kiki's name didn't use to be Nkerinna. That I've made closer to sounding Igbo as I made Verocia based more on Igboland than some vaguely anime-inspired Japanese inspiration (don't shoot me I was 12 and heavily into Naruto). Her original last name was Jorani, not Ogbode. I'd look up what her original name was, but fanfiction dot net is down right now lmao.

Nirisa's name hasn't changed. Her name means sunset. Kiki's means dawn. Nirisa is the older one, yes, but....idk I like Kiki's name meaning "dawn".

Sunlaou Cloen is named that because I thin it sounds nice and I like "Soni" (sunny) as a nickname. Hahkin is Hahkin because I like the sound. Persha-Ro (her last name) is like that because I wanted a hyphenation.

In general though, I try to differentiate the way I name my OCs from typical star wars conventions because Star Wars names can be...boring. Women's names are often vowel-heavy and sound typically feminine in a Western romance language way. The men's names get to have heavier consonants, but then they also get to be weirder. But most often, Star Wars names can be really monosyllabic. Luke. Han. Poe. Finn. Rey. Ben. PT and some OT names have a distinct formation to them that the ST ones lack.

Over the years, I've seen names be 2-syllable first names and 1-syllable last names, or vice-versa, and they won't be very different from one another. This is why my OCs will sometimes have longer names, and the female characters especially will get names that don't sound as typically feminine (Hahkin, Nkerina, Tysolis, Iriyunan, etc.). My one exception is As'adari, but I named her that specifically because it's a girly name for a very unfeminine, aggressive, and brutish female character.

Then you have Pailenam, Paradise, Okunna, Chiadi, Danda, Yuza, etc. And despite my best efforts, the letter A is still clearly very popular in my names lmao.

[lloydfrontera]

What is your opinion on og!Lloyd? i don't know if you ever did a character analysis of him and i vaguely know the novel talks about him in some moment. I'm just curious of what you think of him

*sigh* i,,, don't,, love him,,, to be honest 😅

just... a warning. do skip this one if you like og!lloyd. cause i'm not gonna be very nice to him akjshdka

i have very little patience for characters who are mean for no reason and have no other qualities to redeem them. which is what og!lloyd is.

Lloyd Frontera, the hooligan, was a mess. His personality. Behavior. Attitude. Not a single attribute of his was worthy of praise. He destroyed himself and those around him, slacking off and behaving recklessly at any given chance. He was always preoccupied with his thoughts about the Frontera fiefdom, a boring and hideous province. He pitied his fate of being born and rotting away in such a place. And so, he was always angry. He was enraged by the lack of his family's status and his unfulfilled greed. The anger, disappointment and frustration inside the young master were taken out on everyone around him. He hurled insults at maids and physically assaulted servants. He mistreated his parents and the rest of the family. -Chapter 236

like. man a piece of shit lmao. he was born in such a favorable position considering the setting he lived in, he was a noble, he had parents that loved and supported him, he was healthy and able bodied, he had so many opportunities of making something for himself. and he didn't.

"[...] You said I will really pull myself together and study hard this time. So please believe me and make an investment. I was happy. That was why I readily gave you the money that came from selling the villa for the academy tuition. But you completely wasted every single cent with the scoundrels you used to get along with. All the while, you shamelessly played around with women and threw grimy parties in drunken stupor" -Chapter 7

it clearly wasn't that he didn't have chances to be better. he had plenty of them. imagine having a dad that loves you so much that even after years of being an arrogant, rude, violent piece of crap still has the hope that you'll get better and gives you the resources that you need to achieve that. and then you waste them in drinking and messing around. like. god.

now let's talk about julian. his younger brother.

my god.

if anyone had any right to never ever forgive or trust lloyd again in his entire life it was julian.

"[...] Each day, he threw his drunken tantrum at all people. Breaking stuff in the house was commonplace. Sometimes, he hit people and Julian wasn't an exception. Arguably, Lloyd whacked Julian the most. When Julian was young, Lloyd beat him for not doing his errands. When Julian grew older, Lloyd beat him for hovering around when he was drinking. His violence grew worse to the point that Lloyd whacked, punched, and kicked Julian for always living an upright life." -Chapter 85

Three years ago, Julian prepared to leave the Frontera fiefdom to enroll in the academy and wanted to greet his brother before leaving. After all, he was still his brother despite how much Julian hated him. But the moment he opened the door, the pungent and acrid smell of alcohol assaulted hi nose, and then came a shout, yelling at him to get out since he's sleeping. Then, a bottle of alcohol was tossed in the air and hit the wall right beside Julian's face. The smell of liquor, the rough yelling and the shattered bottle. That marked his last interaction with Lloyd three years ago before Julian left for school. Julian stroked the corner of his left eyes by habit with his hand. There was a small scar on his skin, a burrow that looked like a mole. He had gotten it that very day three years ago from the shards of the glass bottle Lloyd threw. -Chapter 89

like. let's be clear here. lloyd isn't a child. he's not even an adolescent or a teenager. he's a grown ass man. he was 25 at the start of the novel. he's 5 years older than julian. the narration tells us that lloyd physically abused julian when he was young and then as he grew older. but julian left his home when he was 18. there was no point in their relationship where julian wasn't a minor being physically and verbally harassed by his five years older brother.

the text tells us lloyd physically assaulted the servents and it also tells us that arguably the person he hit the most was julian so. we can draw conclusions on how bad the abuse got.

so... all of that it's kind of what makes me feel so uncharitable towards og!lloyd.

he was such a,,, a shitty person. he had everything going for him and instead of making the most of it he decided it wasn't enough and grew bitter and angry that he didn't have more and decided to take it out on everyone around him. people who loved him, who worked for him, who would one day depend on him, people who simply didn't deserve the way he treated them.

and for what? because he thought his family wasn't prominent enough? cause he lived in a quiet and boring place? cause he didn't have more status? he was a noble for god sake, he was born in an aristocratic family, he wouldn't have to work a single day of his life if he so wanted! he could've gone to the capital city and studied hard like his brother and made something of himself if he wanted more prominence! he could've traveled and seen other places if he didn't want to be stuck in a small barony!

but he didn't want to work hard. he wanted everything to be handed to him from birth and not move a single finger to get what he wished for.

and y'know me, i love shitty characters, i love pathetic men, i love absolute bastards who want and take and hoard but the one thing i can't stand is spoiled, lazy and entitled brats who not only refuse to work for what they want but also dare to blame and hurt others for what they lack.

add to it that he was abusive ass to his little brother and employees and you have the perfect mix for a character that i would fight in a dennys parking lot at 3 am lmao

he eventually does come to regret the way he acted, but to me it's too little too late y'know? the damage was done and he had no way to fix it. and the thing is if he hadn't been forced out of his body and made to watch as someone else took over his life he never would've changed. he would've go on to die as the same rude, violent and incompetent person he lived as.

but, for the sake of being fair, i will acknowledge that he did come to genuinely regret his actions. to realize that he had no excuse. and it is genuinely sad to see him come to terms with the fact that the person who replaced him was a better son, a better brother, a better heir and better person than he ever was. that there was a reason his parents worried and cared for the person walking around in his body now. that the person who took over his body changed completely the reputation he'd made for himself by being a hooligan.

and he did ask after his parents before going into the reincarnation gate so i guess he did care for them even if he didn't show it when he was alive. also him not asking after julian because he knows his brother is smart and he's sure he's fine on his own is kinda sweet (even if i don't think it's nearly enough to make up for all the years of abuse lol)

speaking of the reincarnation gate! at first i thought og!lloyd being reborn as suho would make me like him more but?? actually it did the contrary??? it was so weird!! i thought my feelings of "💜💖💕💞<333💗💖<<3💞💜💕💜<33" for lloyd would bleed through and soften me up to og!lloyd but nope! kinda made me even more mad at him asjkhdka because like,,, it just kinda showed that he never had any reason to act like that?? and i already knew that but making a direct comparison to lloyd in canon just made it all the more clear.

suho had so many reasons to become a terrible person. he had so many reasons to stop caring for other people and become a total asshole. to stop trying so hard and give up and just take up the vice of his choice to drown out his bitterness. and he never did. he never stopped trying, he never stopped caring, he never could bring himself to not love the people around him.

and you could argue that this is because of og!lloyds resolution to be a better person in his next life but i think that ascribing everything that suho did to that would be a disservice to suho's character. he has none of og!lloyd's memories, he has no idea that was his past life, he's his own person, formed by his own experiences and feelings and environment and to act like all he is and does is because of the regrets of his previous life is taking away the strength it took for him to take all of his pain and hurt and tragedy and decide that he wanted something better, both for himself and for his new family.

so does og!lloyd's resolution for his next play a part on suho's character? yeah, almost definitely. but i don't think it's all there is to it and it certainly does not make up for all the hurt he caused in his own life.

i'm a nurture over nature kind of person, so i tend to think of suho and og!lloyd as different characters despite the whole reincarnation thing. i fully believe it is our experiences and decisions who make us, well, us, who we are as persons, so suho having his own memories and not remembering life as og!lloyd is enough to make him his own person, shared soul or not. but ymmv and all that

so... yeah aksdjka

[futurequibblerjournalist]

Lol they really skipped the dating and went right to exes LOL

I'm so glad you like the long asks!!!!! :3 I don't wanna fixate on Igor and Snape for too long bc Ik that can get sort of boring and maybe irritating and totally don't want to do that to you but ummmm

1st of idk if you see it the same way but I wouldn't be like,,,, jaw on the floor if Snape was a flustered little loser LOL so I idkidk I just think Igor would take advantage of that. Idk I think you were spoton with "ooh you wanna kiss me so bad you little man" heehee but Ik you do fanfic requests... So ... Idk you totally 100% don't have to do it if you don't want to but Idk I'd love to see a fic of it!! Ur writing is scrumptious :33

Umm and 2nd 2nd why do you think Igor's so scared of Snape?? :0 I know (or at least think LOL) that is bc he's like all mysterious and mean as a teacher and that's why people are so spooked out but Igor's like,,, seen him naked LOL so idk I'm just curious :3

Sorry for so much spamm!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- 🍃

Ahhhh I love the spam so much!! It’s been a tonne of fun but also oh damn the fact that anyone wants to listen to my silly little rambles is wild to me still lol

They definitely went from like,, annoyances who share a dorm room to something vaguely friendly to fucking to vaguely friendly (depending on who else they’re getting shipped with or if they ever stop fucking around at all) to betrayal to bickering exes. They are so awful lmaooo

Chatting about them has been very fun but please feel free to ask me about any other characters!! Even ones I haven’t before/haven’t mentioned!!

I think it takes a certain kind of approach to turn Severus Snape into a flustered little loser, firstly because you have to make it clear to the little dingus that you’re actually being serious first. There is a sense of “we’re both aware you’re ugly but at least I can use your body for something” element to these two ngl but!!! That’s just how they are you know??? It sounds shitty but no one claimed these two were healthy. I’ll definitely write one Igor Karkarov trying to seduce Severus Snape in the most horrible way into my little book of things to write at some point!!

I’m not sure if scared is the best word (if I’m the one who originally said it then this is me officially correcting myself lmao) a better word would probably be intimidated. Specifically after the whole ratting him out thing, before that I don’t think he was particularly intimidated of him which probably threw Severus off because he’s used to that being his main defence and all that. I think especially after they start hooking up but before the whole him ratting him out thing there is very few things Severus can do to intimidate Igor because he can do his whole rant around Igor being a vile cockroach meathead who only thinks with the wrong head but Igor is just going to lean far too close into his personal space and say some dumb shit like “I don’t remember you complaining this much about the head of my cock when it was buried deep inside you last night” and then he does his stupid little laugh lmaoooo

[yanderecandystore]

I was reading about Azir and MC who either given up or not playing his games. With Azir being controlling, I thought about something. What if there is something that Azir can't control, like death? Because what if he made one scenario with MC who has given up that causes them great harm or worse death. Either MC is still young and doing shit, or maybe they are old that inevitability of death is near.

Stress is sometimes good, but too much is bad and may cause some.... Unfortunate accident. :)

Be mild, Azir

In today's episode of Choco not knowing how to goddamn read: Another request where I fixate on only ONE aspect of a request! Hwrqefjegjq I'm so sorry boo ;-;

I just realized something… he isn't a player… he is a craftsman 💀 he spends too much time taking pieces of different planets and realms to make into snow globes… I don't know why I named him a player lmao

I decided to be mean and make Azir's life worse by shoving another person to take care of you.

TW/Tags: mentions of reincarnation; death; complete obviousness/disregard for human life // the depiction of the afterlife is vague and based on nothing that I'm aware of(?); Subconsciously, it could be based on something that I don't remember // Multiple reader deaths (someone keeps killing you)

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Guardian Angel [Yandere!Eldritch!OC x GN!Reader - Headcanon]:

Oh Azir, how I missed playing with you just like how you miss playing with your darling-

I think he never really bothered with getting humans back from the dead, especially since they just tend to be born again. They always go back to Earth, of course, so he never bothered searching for specific people to put back in his little games.

But an essential character like you can't be easily replaced and you have too much potential to be forgotten by the universe like that- So, he would absolutely violate your natural born right to have a peaceful eternal rest.

What? It's not unheard of for entities to simply revive their favorites, although his brethren aren't really allowed to do that, he simply wishes to continue the plot you were previously following.

Which one? Well, all of them. All of them in their right times. Think of it as resetting a game and starting all over, but the mechanics slightly shift through every playthrough.

You're the same you as you always will be, maybe with a different appearance, a different mentality molded by the variety of environments and backgrounds he can put you on- Oh, but you're just his favorite actor in each of them! How is he NOT expected to bring your soul back regardless of the trials and errors?

The first time you died was the only time he slightly felt, well, worried? It wasn't exactly guilt nor grief, but it was something like a sense of emptiness especially if it was his fault… Making you overly stressed, be it at a young reckless age or at your last moments standing- He probably wouldn't feel your loss in the same way mortals do.

His favorite toy broke, his game feels incomplete without it, and although reanimating your body was quite easy… hm… pretending to be you was fun at first but it lacked the spark of something natural and random.

He liked to be in control of everything, yes, sometimes watching but most of the time finding ways to implement himself in the lives of others- He didn't want to pretend to be you forever though, nor did he like the idea of using your inactive body as a skin puppet, the flesh was a fun but not so intriguing part of the mortal experience.

He needed to find your soul, wherever it was. Searching the different realms for it was easy, and quite boring actually, but getting you to come back was something else.

He wasn't really allowed here. None of his kind was, they were powerful and followed no "rules" but had some limitations when it came to the simple task of bringing someone back from the dead. It's not like they couldn't do it, it's that they shouldn't.

Would he really taint the afterlife forever and snatch you away just to keep himself entertained for longer? Yeah, yeah he would.

In the mix of different voices, a colorful sea of different souls collectively sleeping and awaiting their return, one of them screamed while being forcefully dragged back to their already rotting corpse.

Ah dear… A rotting corpse isn't suited for souls to stay in, although you looked adorable as a living-dead variant of yourself, you didn't seem to be cooperating with the vision he originally had in mind.

His first experiment to bring you back was a failure, as your body was no longer suited for a soul- But with just a few adjustments he got to bring you back with your same appearance and memories intact! Your body was healthy again, aren't you glad to be back?

… Ugh… Why can't you stop complaining to him about your death? People die all the time, shouldn't you be glad he brought you back from that boring afterlife?

Sleeping peacefully for eternity sounds absolutely tedious, he can't imagine why anyone would consider it a good choice to spend their time.

Considering no normal person would feel good about being brought back to life by their killer (directly or not) especially knowing this person has the power to keep you bound to them forever, it is understandable that you would be quite pissed about it.

So maybe keeping your memories wasn't a good idea, but he knew a quick way to fix it.

As long as you belong to his simulations, living inside them you're not going to go anywhere else, dead or alive… He "could" try to take a piece of the afterlife and shove it in a snowglobe, but truly, that's something that he doesn't have any control over.

It was too tricky to try to trap it there, whenever he would come back the globe would be empty. It doesn't matter what arcane dark magic he uses, he can't ever keep that "terrain" fixated in one location.

But, he could maybe make his own..? Oh, wouldn't that be lovely? Instead of having to constantly take you back by force, he can just make a self-sufficient system of afterlife and reincarnation, he could make it so there was no other choice than to keep the cycle going as much as he could!

Or he could make something special for you for once, how would you like a smaller snow globe just for you? Every fantasy your heart desired could be real if you just behave a little more.

Ah but there was also one small thing he didn't really consider… So, remember how he isn't welcome in the afterlife? Yeah, he is also not "allowed" to take a soul and force it back to the realm of the living, especially not a soul that is screaming and begging to be left alone already.

Someone is responsible to keep these souls intact, perhaps there are multiples like this entity- But only he came to fix the job.

Think of it this way, you have a being that is almost like a guardian angel, with a grim reaper mentality that keeps chasing your soul to bring you back to the afterlife (the correct version of it). And on the other hand you have Azir, a being that keeps bringing you back and who although "lacks authority" over your little "angel", won't ever back down about doing what he wants whenever he wants.

And then there's you, being brought back for a certain period of time, perhaps decades in your lifetime before having to die again and again by a safekeeper of souls. One wants to play with you like a toy and the other sees you as some sort of sheep that got lost from the herd.

If there's Hell, I would bet you it's more pleasant than this existence. Hah, wouldn't it be hilarious if you got them both to fall for you? Hah, as if that would happen.

I like to imagine your little "guardian angel" and Azir have to be passive aggressive when interacting- As any small fight could lead to a war between realms and let's be honest, the ones getting the short end of the stick here would be you and all of the mortals of every other planet and realm.

Everyone is fucked except the ones that can withstand the existence after existence itself has imploded, and no one really wants to see the age of nothingness and darkness return, life as fragile as it is, brings light to those that don't understand it's real value- But miss it dearly when it's gone.

What I mean is that congratulations, I'm giving you another mythical boyfriend who will try to restore order to your peaceful afterlife while the other one keeps bringing you back out of spite at this point.

It's not just about you, it's also because he is well aware that shiny looking asshole is probably spending time with you in that calm, "wonderful" place that only hosts exclusively mortal souls.

Well… But now that I think about it, technically this whole process of reincarnation is technically working inside the laws of the universe. You are born, you live, you die, you get sent to the other side and then get reborn again. It is also sort of very beneficial for both parties despite their mutual hatred towards one another.

You really need to find a cosmic lawyer or something like that though, this work practice is really unethical since you're very much aware of why and who keeps you inside this vicious cycle, it's hard to live a life you're constantly getting reminded of your previous one.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

I just wanted to draw the three bois in human disguise, Diph being angry at Azir for being reckless and getting unwanted attention from an "angel" (and also for letting the human die like that, like bro, you have so much power yet you did nothing?).

And then reader have to deal with this bs.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[piracytheorist]

Twilight recognizing Yor's lullaby as one his mother used to sing to him is a very interesting detail regarding the history and culture of Westalis and Ostania.

(keep in mind I don't read the manga so I don't know any details revealed there)

While there are real life cases of neighboring nations sharing parts of their culture, there are signs that point to Westalis and Ostania having once been a united nation. The main real-world influence being West and East Germany, the two nations speaking the same language, having shared songs... maybe the war is what created the line between them in the first place. Westalis pertains to "West" and Ostania to "East" and many people in the story simply use "west" and "east" to refer to the respective country... as if it's not that much of a different country.

In such a case, it would make even more pointed how the first conflict between extremists and "pacifists" we saw in the story was between young university students and the WISE agents. The former were not born when the war broke out*, thus never saw the united country and they now believe in Ostanian supremacy. The latter were old enough to see the war break out and have their lives torn apart by it, and none of their motives include Westalian supremacy - because they remember the time where Westalis didn't even exist? So the idea of supremacy means nothing to them?

* I don't know how old Twilight is supposed to be, but aside from Nightfall and the newer recruits, he seems to be among the youngest in the agency. Now, the few flashbacks we've seen of him in the anime, were they in the beginning or the midst of the war? The old woman in episode 12 says that has been her life for "decades" so there's an actual chance that Twilight was born during the war. But in any case, anyone who's even a few years younger than him won't remember a peaceful time without divided nations. Idk I'm just guessing and spitballing here. I don't want spoilers.

That's interesting to think about because it might point to how the story will end. I cannot imagine the story ending with Twilight perpetually staying a spy, and considering how strong his motives are (at the detriment of his own self), he's not gonna want to retire if the cold war doesn't end for good.

And maybe that's just me looking too much into it, but maybe that end won't come without a unification. Again, the influence was West and East Germany - two nations that are now one. And if you think "That's too hopeful" I've heard older people say they never expected for Germany to reunite before it did (I'm curious to hear opinions from any Germans but I'm too bored to search lmao feel free to comment though). So... you know. I mean, if Endo wanted to leave the implications vague, it's not like he doesn't live right opposite another divided country that has been in a war stalemate for more than half a century and cannot draw inspiration from there.

Idk again just throwing ideas into the wind. Don't spoil me if the manga gives more info.

[mixelation]

people in my life keep having babies so childrearing has been on my mind recently. here's some vaguely homemade dynamite-compliant itadei baby headcanons no one asked for

so first i want to preface this with: i don't intend to actually write an itadei baby into homemade dynamite. this is more like "for those of you wondering how this would go down." my mikoto definitely wants grandbabies, so i have already written at least one conversation about a surrogate that they both hate lmao.

i don't think itachi would want kids. i do think he likes the idea of his loved ones having kids he gets to spoil. if sasuke or shisui had a kid? he's there! i think in his whacky itachi-brain he is capable of being like "if my partner had a baby, i would uncle that baby so hard" but is not into spawning his own offspring. weird, bad feelings there. i think he would struggle with connecting to his own baby unless the baby took after his partner (or sasuke lmao).

i think deidara has never once considered having a kid and the idea would freak him out. but also i think once the baby was a Thing in his life, he'd be much better at connecting with them then itachi.

all that being said: i think even though he theoretically has a duty as clan heir to produce more heirs, itachi would reject the idea of being the sperm donor. the baby is genetically deidara + some uchiha lady mikoto very carefully picked out.

i am going to make the baby a girl, for reasons of diversifying pronouns for writing. she has tiny hands with tiny mouths??? itachi was weirded out at first and didn't even want to talk to their poor surrogate but now he is in love. weird cute mini deidara

i recognize that itachi and deidara are both very likely to produce the most fucked up kid in the universe. however, i don't want to write about them fucking up a kid except in vaguely comedic ways, so i'm going with this angle: itachi and deidara do not give a shit what their kid wants to do with their spare time. they are very supportive of the kid just.... doing her own thing. it does not occur to them to intervene in "problems" until they are already happening.

your kid is failing class? oh shit, i guess we should make sure you do your homework. your kid bit someone? uuuh don't do that unless they really deserve it, i guess. your kid can't hold a fucking kunai? surely we taught her that--

the kid is deidara's and mikoto would only let a Top Kunoichi birth her grandbaby, so i want to kid to be the "disaster genius" brand of character. she picks up things infuriatingly easily but her parents have completely failed to give her real structure so her academy years are a lot of "okay so i don't actually know how to sharpen a kunai--"

she creates deeply stupid problems for herself, and she is then very good at solving them in increasingly unhinged ways. she is a "i put on a fire by adding more fire" type of person. a "i solved the problem by creating ten new problems" kid. a "i don't know how to do division but luckily i solved the question using backwards-multiplication, a thing i just made up that works exactly like division except it made my project partner cry." she is very bad at explaining herself to other people. her dads think she is fine and normal

so she is a very clever and talented kid, who does not have to work particularly hard to get ahead of her peers, but also she fucks up in new and spectacularly ways that prevent her from getting an ego. she is confident in her ability to figure out how to do whatever she wants to do and has a very "I can do it!!" attitude, but she doesn't particularly like applying herself to things she thinks are boring or she isn't immediately good at, which will cause problems for her once she graduates

she has a very strong sense of herself, so once the "imagine the SHEER DESTRUCTIVE POWERS of basically girl-deidara with a sharingan--" start happening, i think she'd reject the idea immediately. yes she DID set that abandoned building on fire, but you don't understand-- it was one part accident two parts an act of HEALING CREATION--

[itwillbelonelywontit]

If I might rant a bit from one lesbian fujoshi fic writer to another, idk how much you'll relate to this because I'm sure we all experience this phenomenon with very different perspectives and whatnot, but: how do you write explicit content?? It's legit good too??

My own fascination with gay smut and yaoi ships in fandom is something that's confused myself and everyone around me ever since I realized that I am a women-only girlie, but if I had to do some self-psychoanalysis, I think part of the reason it's sexy is the degree of separation from myself. These boys, who I only like because they are not real and would be very upset to see in real life, are characters who are treated by their creators and the media around them as full fleshed-out people with problems and goals unrelated to misogyny. They don't have the genitalia that I have, nor want to see, and it's not the genitalia I've learned to fear the brutalization of through my own personal experience and the experience of the women around me. They're separate, on their own island, and as such, feel very safe to project weird desires, dead dove, character-study, and other exploration of my non-corporeal sexuality onto. The smut is hot not because there's a penis, but around it - there's a safety where I can explore erotic sections of people and of myself, and the things that are happening enhance characterization and are interesting because of that. I read a lot of porn lmao.

I don't know if you've noticed - you've given me kudos on my two most sexual fics, You Bite My Lip and Looking for Heaven (thank you btw <3) - that I only write sexual situations where they're clothed, cut to black, or it's mentioned in this sort of vague illusion-to. It's not because I'm uncomfortable with anything else. It's because if I try to write anything more explicit than that, the writing describing the sex quickly gets stale, repetitive, unimaginative, boring. I like the reason I'm doing it, I want to inlay the exploration of dynamic and idea that I'm writing it for in the first place. But I'm not actively having fun with the sex part (because penises mean nothing to me lol), and that means the actual base I'm laying the fun bits on turns out underwritten and bad.

At the end of the day, I think my problem is that I just can't seem to get excited about dick 😭

I love the Lawlight stuff on ur blog btw keep it up

oooooh this response is going to be long

first of all, hello fellow lesbian fujoshi! we are a phenomenon that few can understand, and I am so fascinated by hearing other people's experiences! and I'm so happy you think the stuff I write is good, thank you <3

as a quick disclaimer, I am definitely somewhere on the aro/ace spectrum as well as being lesbian, so I don't doubt that factors into some of my perspective

this may be shocking to hear now, but for years I had zero interest in basically all m/m ships. looking back, there were definitely relationships between men that I was weirdly invested in (obikin, sheith) but I didn't consider that "shipping" based on the complex and slightly taboo nature of the relationships in question and insecurity in my own sexuality. the slash ships that I did like tended to be completely devoid of any risqué undertones (think solangelo), and I had no interest in exploring a sexual side of their relationships. I basically only shipped f/f for years.

however there was a turning point midway through high school where i, with the accidental help of my best friend, flipped a switch in my brain. for about a year there was only one slash ship that I read explicit material for, but my friend introduced me to danmei and shonen, which just opened the floodgates. I found that I could enjoy reading smut without feeling uncomfortable or too close with the content if the characters were men. see, for me, appearance has always been second to dynamic in my sexuality. for example, if I'm reading vanilla smut of two girls who I think are attractive, I won't really find it entertaining as opposed to a m/m fic containing Things that I find hot. okay, so why dont I just read kinky femslash? here's where I absolutely relate to you in the aspect of separation. being attracted to women but uninterested, and occasionally repulsed, by seeing myself in a sexual situation, I find it so much more comfortable to read about guys whose genitalia and gender is different than mine. I can still get the satisfaction of these dynamics that I think are sexy, without having to risk it hitting too close to home. also totally agree about the misogyny factor, a BL youtuber I really love has a great video where she explains the appeal of slash shipping for her, and I definitely find a lot of her points relatable.

honestly I'm not sure what to tell you for how I write explicit slash content. it's just never really been something that makes me uncomfortable. man I wish I had some advice. I suppose just write what you enjoy? LOVE your fics by the way, so if closed sex/fade to black is your jam, then write it! if you do want to achieve writing hardcore porn, my advice would be to do your research along with reading other's work. make sure you understand the anatomy and how everything functions, and that will help you understand how to write it.

thank you so much for this ask! I feel like it's hard for a lot of people to wrap their heads around being a lesbian yaoi enjoyer, so I hope my rambling wasn't totally incoherent, and can maybe answer some of those questions.

[hammity-hammer]

15 questions, 15 tags

i was tagged by my dear @unclewaynemunson :)) thank you lovely!

(also please excuse my lengthy answers, i get really excited and write a lot lmfao- and some of the answers vaguely mention shitty parenting, not in depth but it is brought up if anyone gets uncomfy by that! (questions 2 & 3 specifically :p)

1. Are you named after anyone? nope! my Government Name™️ is amethyst, like the stone, but my ma just thought it was cool :p i prefer aj or ham, though! i do say that aj stands for apple juice, so i guess i could be named after apple juice :pp

2. When was the last time you cried? friday! i heard really sad news regarding how my younger brothers are being parented by my biodad and it! hurt to realize he's not breaking his cycle :,)

3. Do you have kids? nope! but i do treat my oldest younger brother(the 18yo i write about a lot) like he's my son bc we had some Rough Moments™️ as kids where i was like the parent

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? yes! but a lot of people don't realize it #thankyouautism

5. What's the first thing you notice about people? oooo,,,,,, it really depends? i really stare at people's lips bc i have auditory processing issues,, and apparently i recognize people based on their mouths?? but im inclined to say eyes because i like them? idk,,, lips or eyes!

6. What's your eye color? i have centralized heterochromia! (like a big portion of people tbh, but i still think it's neat) so my eyes are like,, hazel? but not green hazel, they're grey! on the outside part at least, and the inside is like a golden brown :p

7. Scary movies or happy endings? this is hard!! i really fucking love scary movies,, all of my favorite movies are scary! but i'm a sucker for a happy ending,,, i think,,,, i may have to go scary though!

8. Any special talents? idk if it's a talent but i can macrame necklaces? and i know spanish(fairly fluently, i'm really shy with it though), and am learning asl, which i think is pretty talented?? i also can decorate a cake?(pretty basically, but i know how to do some shitty roses and write!)

9. Where were you born? chicago! (indiana tho, it's like 15 minutes away from where i was born)

10. What are your hobbies? writing, drawing, watching tv, engaging with my local bdsm & queer community!! and getting tattoos and piercings<333 (i have 27 tattoos and like,,, 17? 18 piercings? idk anymore)

11. Do you have any pets? yes! i have one cat, my sweet lady Miss Rizz! i had a cat named flamer who recently had to take his forever sleep, and i miss him dearly. <3 (i'm writing a fic vaguely surrounding this idea that hopefully will be done this weekend!)

12. What sports do you play/have you played? none :)))))) unless you count,,, fishing?

13. How tall are you? i'm 5'8! which is around 173cm for my non american buddies :,)))))

14. Favorite subject in school? languages! i took four years of spanish, one of asl, and i adored my english classes! also, art and painting! and anatomy & physiology, and pathophysiology :) i'm a big human body nerd lmao (also i'm aware i shouldve chosen one but i have too many favorites to choose just one!)

15. Dream job? good question! i'm not sure, honestly. i always say being a piercer, but i tend to get bored rather quickly of jobs and i change a lot, hence why i know how to decorate cakes but also can tell you which alarm companies have a better monitoring service, and can also make a mean ass from-scratch smash burger. i think that when i went to college(i dropped out) my dream job was being a pathologist, and i honestly think that i might still want to do that? but owning a queer run/servicing primarily queer people piercing studio sounds really fucking enticing. i could go on a whole thing about body affirming piercing and the effect it has on queer people, and how we have modern day american piercing thanks to our queer predecessors, but that's nerdy and not what the question asked! so, final answer: either a pathologist, or an owner of a queer piercing shop :p

thank you so much for reading if you did!

i'm gonna tag @cheatghost @punkharringtxn @someforeignband @courtjestermunson @corrodedcorpses @riality-check @rhaenyyras @legitcookie @princessstevemunson @sidekick-hero @babygirlharrington @fagsculinity @harmonictechnicality @strawberryspence and anyone else who wants to do this! you can tag me <3

[ac-liveblogs]

Misc. 4.2 Archon Quest Predictions

I'm vaguely aware of how Furina and Neuvillette's little... power struggle? Is going to be resolved thanks to leaks, but until then -

I think the Gnosis is in the Oratrice. It's the reason why Fontaine's Justice system functions Like That, as well as why they can convert Belief into Power. After Sumeru's Akasha system, that makes the most sense to me.

That doesn't account for why Furina doesn't seem like an Archon, since not having her Gnosis didn't really bother Ei, so I assume she also put part of herself (?) or her authority as Archon (?) in the Oratrice as well. I don't know what exactly she did to herself, but it should be related to the Oratrice. Or depending on when the Oratrice was made, the previous Hydro Archon Did Something and Furina is saddled with it.

The Oratrice being wrapped up with the Gnosis and the Hydro Archon this way is why Neuvillette honours its judgments - even when Childe has been found guilty.

I don't expect Navia, Clorinde, Wriothesely, Lyney/Lynette or Freminet to do much more than help the people of Fontaine evacuate when the waters rise. Navia has her weird boat-shaped base, Wrio is building his own Ark, the twins+Freminet have the Magic Pockets. I'd be shocked if we got anything else from them.

I'd be shocked if Charlotte even shows up in 4.2 outside of maybe writing a news article on what happened at the end.

I really have no idea what Childe will do. Leaks from ages ago said he had no speaking lines in 4.1 and 4.2, and while he definitely didn't in 4.1 he was still present and... said things, I guess. He's definitely present in the 4.3 trailer, so maybe he'll just appear in cutscenes to fight whatever the new boss is, help hold it off for a little while or whatever, get knocked out, and then we have to step in to finish the job.

No idea what will happen with the Vision. Maybe he'll fuck off into the Abyss with Skirk and we'll keep holding onto it (lmao). It's such a weird point that we got it. I wonder if it's just to justify the Childe dream-sharing. That feels like a plot element they might want to keep around?

Who knows about Skirk. She might just be a cameo or she might dump some lore and bounce. I don't think she'll stick around after this.

We won't fight Arlecchino. I assume we would have heard something about her boss battle by now if we did. We might just end up teaming up with her entirely in this patch to fight the Abyss.

Despite the hype for the trial in the trailer, I don't think they're going to make us do another one. I hope they don't. I seriously really fucking hope they do not. Please.

So far, I've been really unimpressed with Fontaine. Unlike Sumeru, there are a lot of plot elements present in this region that could have really worked for me but so far they've flubbed every single one.

Ch1 was tedious right up until the trial, and the trial was terribly written; ch2 and ch3 were extremely poorly thought out filler that failed to use the playable cast members in meaningful ways; ch4 was... passable, if an extremely boring way to make use of all the players in Meropide. Though at that point I also just wanted to be out of Meropide.

Fuck Meropide.

I don't really expect ch5 to be a meaningful improvement, but if they can do some fun stuff with Childe I'll at least enjoy that much.

[m1d-45]

hello again my far love/p

there's something I feel like I need to explain?? I have a Tumblr account but I prefer to be anonymous for asks and such, I just prefer it bc I get shy(and a little paranoid that people can see me yk, I like to be a fly on the wall) I've also just began using 🍄 to ask in blogs and I've gotten attached

I've been following and liking your content before I asked yk and I'm sure if I gave you the name I go by online you'd know what my account is lmao, tbh at this rate I don't think I mind, you and teddy are cool people and I do want to talk more/play genshin with u all

I just felt like I needed to clear that up and when I said that I should create a blog I mean like, a writing blog where I post about things and such, ofc If I end up doing this I would let you know. my only issue with that is motivation and inspiration

speaking about that tho, your 1k special

- how 'insert character' felt when they became your vessels

- letters (I've seen this one before)

- windtrace/events with the creator

I think that's all the ideas I got rn, you could always do a prompt based one where it's like "can I have a latte with strawberry and chocolate with diluc" and latte = fluff, strawberry = SAGAU and chocolate = date hcs

- 🍄 (never take precalc if you're bad at math, it's sucks and I hate it. I have a test on Thursday 😭) (I feel like playing genshin with y'all would be so fun tho)

[i was gonna make a joke here about dramatically receiving a letter, then realized that you know what, rp is not something i want on my genshin impact fanfiction blog]

i 100% get the like fear of being Perceived but like…. in the gentlest way possible, i feel like a character in a shakespeare play, talking about intense worldbuilding with my vaguely queercoded best friend as we profess to be knights by each other’s side until the very end, no matter how bitter, for the audience to hear (it’s foreshadowing for how we die together on the battlefield)

(hello to everybody that isn’t 🍄 anon or teddy anon, how are y’all tonight)

uhh re: creating a writing blog, insert link to that post i made abt my tips for blog things, referencing point numbers one and seven.

also i like the letter one. that’s a good idea. i will consider it. should probably sort this out prior to 1k but ehhhhh

(i would love to play genshin with you i am both ar 58 and so bored-)

[angryborzois]

im bored so i'm gonna start drawing parallels between raison detre and gojos past arc 💀

i think the first part is getou's part and the second part is gojo's part and the third part is the two of them as a duo (parts of the third part I marked with red and blue as well but anything after purple is the third part)

(I'm sorry if the colors make it hard to read I didn't know how else to split the sections without it looking awkward)

Also this gets progressively sloppier as the song goes on so yeah..

漂うこの空気にストップ ただ矛盾を抱いている | Stop in this drifting air / I'm just harboring a contradiction

今更猛スピードでスタート切ったって | Even if I took off dashing from the start line now

どうやったって追いつきゃしないぜメーデー | I wouldn't be able to catch up no matter what I do, mayday

This part represents the rift Getou felt after Gojo who became the strongest (also the contradiction part matches Getou's wavering philosophy)

強がりに嫌気がさしている | I'm tired of acting tough

弱音も吐けないままでいる 弱音も吐けないままでいる I'm still unable to whine / I'm still unable to whine

Pretty self-explanatory lmaoo.

損得のものさしでぽいって捨てられ | Thrown away by the measure of profit and loss

I think this part would represent people like Riko and Mimiko + Nanako

よそいきの顔してまたやり過ごす | I go through it again with a nonchalant face

Although I put nonchalant here (lol google translate), it means to act polite and well-mannered. This is basically what Getou did; despite seeing the same bullshit play out over and over again, he told himself to bear the burden of being the strong and forced himself to stay grounded and act well-rounded as an ideal server of society.

存在もないようなもんだ 誰もわかっちゃいないや | It's like I don't exist / nobody gets it

This part relates to how most people aren't aware of his existence and importance of his job as a sorceror. Even more, nobody would understand the pain of his cursed technique; even to those who do know him.

感情論に縋ってなんて憚れば堕ちる | If I cling to an emotional argument and hesitate, I'll fall

Okay this part was hard to translate lmao. I wrote emotional argument, but the word basically means to go along with your emotions rather than hard sound logic. It can also be used to describe the manner of the action of an emotional or impulsive person. But anywho this is basically what Getou did. Look, it makes sense in my head but I don't know how to explain without writing up a whole essay. And anyways he fell.

だけど 夢に目覚めた君は何をみるの | But what do you, who awakened in a dream, see?

I think this sounds like Getou asking Gojo after the latter unlocked his full potential

最低な日を超えて 最善の成る方へ | Overcoming the worst days / Going toward the best way

どうしたんだ 期待なんてもうしてられないから | What's wrong / I can't keep having expectations anymore

その時をじっと待っている | I'm waiting patiently for that time

曖昧な視界に立って 際限のない方へ | Standing at the vague view / Toward the limitless

こんな気持ちさえも捨てきれないのなら | If you can't even throw away these feelings

混ざって混ざって生まれ変わるまで | Mixing / mixing / until we're reborn

終わらない夢を | This endless dream

These parts symbolize Gojo in a lot of ways, like how he was forced to move on toward a future he wanted to achieve with his friend but now has to achieve alone; chasing a dream that suddenly feels unclear to him as he realizes that despite the fact he was the strongest, he was unable to save the person closest to him. However, I also think this closely matches Getou trying to pursue an unclear dream that he justified himself upon after he massacred the village.

従わないことでしか 忌み嫌われることでしか | Only by being disobedient / only by being hated

Gojo acts against the higher-ups out of spite for what they didn't do for the students when they should've. He wants them to hate him; he wants them to remember him; he wants to get back at them and leave an impression. (This sounded better in my head).

焦りだけでは満たされない ありのままなど見せたくはないね | I don't want to show my true self that won't be satiated with only panic

ヘラヘラと今日も笑っている | I continue to laugh pathetically today

弱音も吐けないままでいる 弱音も吐けないままでいる I'm still unable to whine / I'm still unable to whine

This part is literally just Gojo in a nutshell lmao. He continues to laugh and go on, but really, he's just shattered on the inside.

詭弁に振る舞う 自己暗示さえ | Even the self-affirmation of sophistry

真実に拘る 必要もない | There's no need to fixate on the truth

裏切ってしまいそうな今日が かける言葉もないな | The today that seems like it might betray me / I don't have any words to give

金輪際もう一生なんて憚れば堕ちる | If I hesitate and say I'll never lead a life again, I'll fall

だけど 答えなど待っても君に会えやしないと | But even if I waited for an answer, I wouldn't be able to meet you

Okay lmfao this part is pretty complicated but I can say this part definitely--even if Gojo waited and waited to figure out the reason behind Getou's actions, in the end, it would be pointless, and either way he wouldn't be able to go back in time to right things. And either way, he wouldn't be able to meet the him that he knew and loved anymore. The self-affirmation part does tie in with Gojo making himself move on and tell himself he's the strongest, although personally, I don't believe he can see himself as the strongest without Getou by his side anymore.

相対 武器をとって 感情の鳴る方へ | Relatively we take up our arms and go in the direction our emotions ring

こんな気持ちさえも捨てきれないのなら | If you can't even throw away these feelings

混ざって混ざって生まれ変わるまで | Mixing / Mixing / Until we're reborn

終わらない夢を | This endless dream

I'm kinda too lazy to do this part lol

足りないものばかりの僕ら | Us, who are full of lacking things

The duo...

外見だけ取り繕った | I only patched up my appearance

続かないことに苛立った | I got irritated that things didn't continue

他人を見下し嗤ったんだ | I looked down on others and laughed

そうしないと もう僕の心は壊れてしまうから | If I don't, my heart will break

本当はもうわかってるんだ | But really, I already know

期待されない人生だ | I'm living a life where nobody expects anything from me

Getou reflecting on his past, but at the same time this works perfectly fine for Gojo as well

根拠もないあの日のような | Just like that day without evidence

The day Riko died, the day Getou chose his path, the day Getou and Gojo parted ways, etc.

真っすぐな瞳は | The straightforward eyes

だけど 夢に目覚めた君は何をみるの | But what do you, who awakened in a dream, see?

Getou questioning Gojo probably

最低な日を超えて 最善の成る方へ | Overcoming the worst days / Going toward the best way

どうしたんだ 期待なんてもうしてられないから | What's wrong / I can't keep having expectations anymore

その時をじっと待っている | I'm waiting patiently for that time

曖昧な視界に立って 際限のない方へ | Standing at the vague view / Toward the limitless

こんな気持ちさえも捨てきれないのなら | If you can't even throw away these feelings

混ざって混ざって生まれ変わるまで | Mixing / Mixing / Until we're reborn

This part I already explained earlier

終わらない夢を | This endless dream

その先の君を | [And] to you, ahead of it

THIS PART. THIS PART. IT'S LIKE A MESSAGE TO GETOU. crying

[koqabear]

oshdkfj HELP? we're seriously telepathic at this point it's kind of scary... even more so because i've noticed this is Constantly happening to me and it's like, i'll tell someone we're telepathic as a joke at first, and suddenly it's not a joke anymore LMFAOO i think i'm the problem 😞 (fun fact: i'm really good at accidentally manifesting it's like midas touch but with words)

i've been well for the most part though n i hope you have too! i've just been preoccupied with school, playing the sims 4, or decorating toploaders...! i will literally do anything and everything except write; which sucks because i was really excited about this idea and i wanted to finish it by this month, but i haven't made any real progress with writing the storyline or mundane scenes so i don't think that's happening unless i suddenly get a burst of inspiration turned motivation. also, i know some people say that if you get stuck you should work on something else entirely or write a different scene, so i did both of those and here i am again... with two unfinished fics but complete ideas.

the ideas never stopping but the motivation does is actually so real and True though like omfg? i think with myself and my writing style in particular, i absolutely can't let myself get distracted, otherwise my source or motivation is entirely lost and difficult to get back again. i'll constantly get super immersed in a story, outline every last detail and write bits and pieces here and there, but actually writing/finishing and posting it seems to always end up being my problem and . idk how to fix it ?! like i have way too many story outlines in my notes that at this point i think i should just rebrand my blog and make it an idea bank for writers seeing how my own writing does Not want to see the light of day Ever

anyways, sorry i didn't really mean to talk so much about myself but i hope you find your motivation soon! you honestly have a lot more perseverance than i do when it comes to writing and getting your drafts done, so i don't doubt for a second that you'll get over this block soon and tackle all four...? fics 🙏🏼 boxer tae and loser gyu are here to stay ! – ml

We literally share one mind at this point bc it’s like we summoned each other or smth 💀

I’ve been well also! Life’s been a bit busy these past few weeks, but I’m finally getting some free time again,, hopefully this means I’ll have more time to write too

but omg I totally understand what you mean! Sometimes writers block is so intense that nothing helps, and now I’m stuck with so many more drafts it’s actually driving me insane..

And yes!! Mundane scenes are soooo hard to write!! It’s literally whats keeping me from my boxer tae and loser gyu fics, like they need to be there for character development but oh lord is it getting boring for me to write ! I’m also the same way with writing— I need to stay in one place and remain focused or else that fic is not getting touched again 😭 and if I don’t stop writing at an interesting scene it’s over for me

I usually avoid outline my stories in detail it’s insane 💀 the only one I’ve done a full outline on was OYD, and most of it was a voice recording of me incoherently throwing ideas out; after that I took the key points and wrote them down (then I added important details i needed to remember as I wrote)

I always wing my stories which is why I always have to go back and add stuff in LMAO it’s not the best method but it works most of the time…! Then when I’m about to stop a writing session I leave a vague checklist of stuff I wanna write (like scenes and stuff) and hope I touch it again </3

Making ur account an idea bank is such a mood I have so many good stories that are just gathering dust bc my inspiration is dried out 😭 I also hope you’re able to find motivation and inspiration for your stories, it’s such a frustrating feeling to have writers block and I’d love to see your stories !

[avocant]

someone from my course who i haven't spoken to has messaged me on snapchat, i will not have a panic attack 🕯