#i've rewritten it like four different times

[nomazee]

what ppl don't tell you about writing is that it's half having zero ideas whatsoever and not knowing what to write & half having too many ideas and not knowing which ones to pick

[pictureamoebae]

USING RELIGHT FOR RESHADE - a tutorial by amoebae

[You can also find this tutorial over at imgur and patreon]

ReLight is a premium shader for ReShade made by Marty's Mods (Pascal Gilcher). It allows you to add four new lights to your scene that help illuminate, and create realism and drama. To download and use ReLight you need to subscribe to the Path Tracers tier on Gilcher's Patreon to get access to the iMMERSE Ultimate package of shaders. Once subscribed, you'll be prompted to link your Patreon account to discord, and then you'll be granted access to his discord server, and, most importantly, to the Path Tracers discussion channel and the Downloads Level 2 channel, which is where you will find ReLight (along with the other premium shaders included in that tier). 

Be sure to also download the up-to-date free iMMERSE shader package, because you'll need the Launchpad shader and some of the other included files.

The following guide is for the older qUINT_relight.fx version of ReLight. The latest version of ReLight is MartysMods_RELIGHT.fx, released on 31st December 2023. Many of the settings have changed in the newer version, but you can still use this guide to help understand how to enable and position lights. The guide will be updated/rewritten once I've had time to properly play around with the new version. You can continue to use the older version if you'd prefer.

When you turn on ReLight in the ReShade menu you'll be greeted with these settings. Yours may look different because I've used it a lot and it remembers your last settings.

Take a look at the settings at the top.

Use Smooth Normals = On

Trace Shadows = On

Filter Shadows = On

Use Temporal Supersampling = On

Shadow Mode = Trace All

Shadow Quality = Ultra (change this if you get bad performance)

Shadow Sharpness = I have mine set around 0.65 but you can play around with whatever looks best

Z Thickness = Play around with this too. It controls how realistically shadows fall on and around objects

At the very bottom of the settings is Visualize Light Position. Turn this on so you can easily see where your lights are.

Now we can turn on one of our lights. Remember, it remembers your previous settings so yours will look different to mine the first time you use it.

Under Light 0 check the Active box.

You should see a big circle appear somewhere on the screen. If you have any object close enough to it, you should see them get brighter. If nothing is close to the circle you may not see any difference.

You can see a difference between this screenshot and the last - Shadowheart's face is brighter.

Now it's time to move the light where we want it and change it to a colour we like.

Under the Active box you'll see a row of 3 boxes containing numbers, next to the word Position. These control the coordinates of your circle of light in relation to the screen. You can place your mouse inside these boxes and move it while holding down left-click to change the value a little like a slider.

Left box = moves the circle left/right

Middle box = moves the circle up/down

Right box = moves the circle forward/back

In this shot I've moved the circle of light over to the right and a little further back so it better illuminates the front of Shadowheart's face.

Next you can choose the colour of your light.

In the row below Position you'll see it says Tint. Click on the coloured box next to Tint and it will bring up the colour picker you see in the screenshot. Choose your colour from here. Click anywhere in the main ReShade menu to close the colour picker.

I adjusted the position and the tint a little more until I had it exactly where I wanted it. You can see a darker circle now over in the top right of the screen (my mouse cursor is hovering over it to make it easier to see).

You can use the Intensity slider (directly below Tint) to control how bright the light should be.

You may need to go back and forth between the Position, Tint, and Intensity settings until you get just the right effect.

Here's a reminder of what the picture looks like without that added light. Compare it to the screenshot above to see how great our new little light has been at helping illuminate Shadowheart.

You can turn individual lights on and off whenever you want by checking or unchecking the Active box next to the light in question. It will save your settings.

Now I want to add a second light. I've moved my ReShade window over a little so I can see what I'm doing.

I turned on the Active box under Light 1, and positioned my new light where I wanted it. Look over to the left of the statue in the background. You'll see my mouse cursor, and directly above it is a tiny blue circle. That's our second light!

The further you move the light away from the camera (using the right-hand box under Position) the smaller the circle gets, because it's further away!

I made this light blue, and I turned the intensity up quite high. This has helped illuminate the statue and added nice shadows that help give it some depth.

Here's a screenshot to remind you what everything looks like without any of the ReLight lights I added.

And here's a screenshot showing how everything looks with ReLight turned on and my two lights in action. I chose a subtle effect because I just wanted to draw attention to Shadowheart's face and to the statue behind her.

When you close the ReShade menu the circles that helped you know where your lights were will go away, but the light they cast will remain. Notice how you can't see the two circles in this shot?

You can also uncheck the Visualize Light Position box if you want to hide the circles while keeping the ReShade menu open. This can be helpful if they're obscuring parts of the scene that you need to see while you continue editing.

---

And that's it! You can add up to 4 lights and control them independently from one another. You can use them to just help illuminate a character for a portrait, to add drama with bold lighting, or to increase the realism of a scene with better shadows and light falling where you would expect it to. If you have a big fiery sword you can add a light to it that makes orange light cast onto the character who is holding it, which can look really cool. The only limit is your imagination.

(If I ever learn how to make videos I'll translate this tutorial into an easier format, but for now I hope this helps.)

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Five

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: 17k (holy moly)

Chapter Warnings: I tried to sprinkle some fluffy flashbacks and smutty references later in here just to lighten the mood but this is angsty!! probably cursing I honestly can't remember, and serious warnings rn mentions of hacking/gossip blogs/blackmail/cyber bullying/nudes being leaked, talia is her own warning tbh. I tried not to make a cliched ex comes in between them plot and idk how it comes across but yeah I was trying to toe the line between it being interesting/different and then going too far and not being able to write around it which is why the plot kind of fixes itself quick and is a leeeetle bit bad but there's some unresolved bitterness in that relationship for sure lmao she has a LOT 2 say!! did I mention there's angst in here? insecurity/self-doubt and miscommunication!!! in abundance!!! but!! luke is a cutey patootie in this I wrote his part with a lil smile on my face 💖 also a ridiculous conversation about huffing glue lmao

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Four)

A/N: ok so in the grand scheme of things this is both a filler chapter and also like a pivotal point in the story to set something later up, but when I was planning this entire fic out, the only directive I gave myself for this specific chapter was insert angst. you wouldn't believe the amount of times I've written and rewritten and gone back and forth on what's in here. it's the kind of instruction only a complete melon would give themselves and I clearly just hate myself in ways that are spooky and strange to submit myself to this kind of torture.

and I hear your cries of hasn’t this fic just been angst so far??? yes!! you may be correct!! but you don’t get a rainbow without a bit of rain hun!!! grab an umbrella!!! I promise good will come of this lmao

I'm sorry this one took so long, it's the only chapter I didn't have any kind of plan or direction for obviously and I tried to come up with so many different options for the talia plot before I landed on whatever this is, but the next one I do have some scenes written out in my plan so shouldn't be as long in between. my goal has always been a chapter a week but like I said the other day work has been a lot for me the past couple of weeks so I am genuinely sorry for making you wait!!

you guys were very fun and very kind to me after the last chapter so please please please lets keep the good vibes going come chat to me about your thoughts about the fic about the weather about anything!! 💓

Nico

When Nico and Talia had first started dating, there had been an element of excitement to the dynamic. Nico hadn’t properly dated anyone in a while - had casual flings here and there, and for the most part spent his time swallowing down his burgeoning feelings for his best friend - and there was a novelty to starting something with someone new.

He had all the intentions of building something serious with her. She was fun, got on with his friends, had ties close to home that meant he wouldn’t be putting a wedge between the two of them should he want to travel back in his breaks, and sinking his teeth into the challenges of a relationship was something that actually intrigued him.

He liked planning dates, liked buying gifts to see that buzz of joy and gratitude it would elicit, and he liked the companionship - liked having someone there when he came back from a long roadie or a tough string of games. 

He liked it so much he never really opened his eyes to the fact that Talia didn’t. 

She didn’t like the dates he planned - didn’t like the restaurants he chose, the movies he wanted to share with her, the bars him and the guys frequented. She didn’t like America, didn’t like their coffee shops, thought their pastries were packed with too much sugar, their portion sizes were too large for her ever to enjoy going for lunch, always complaining about feeling bloated and sluggish after every meal. She hated Jersey - wanted to spend all her time across the Hudson, looking down on everyone she met and everywhere they went together. She didn’t make much use of the gifts he bought her - let every bouquet of flowers die a quick, careless death, said the watch he bought her didn’t go with enough of her other jewellery and turned her nose up at every effort he made to make his apartment feel more like her home. 

She wasn’t all that comforting when it came to companionship, either. Rolled her eyes when he came home aching and exhausted, went out without him on the days he was coming back from a roadie and returned home when he had long retired to his bed. She would always want to meet up with her girlfriends instead of hanging around the team, and only ever wanted to come to games if she could bring her own entourage - mostly to show off her connections and hardly ever to actually support him.

And so, despite the initial attraction, despite the excitement that first came with their blossoming relationship, Nico can only look at Talia with disinterest and frigidity now.

He barely greets her as he opens the door to his apartment, moving aside to let her in and waiting for her to trudge her small case in behind her before he closes it, leaning against the surface and watching her discard her bag and keys on the counter with familiarity.

When she turns to face him, running a hand through her hair and huffing out a big sigh, he takes in her dishevelled appearance.

Even when travelling, Talia usually takes great pride in her pristine exterior - hair blow-dried, outfit co-ordinated and steam-pressed to perfection, not a crease or stain in sight, and usually a light layer of makeup to cover the slight imperfections like the darkened under eyes and redness around her nose. This isn’t like her.

She looks like she’s been messing with her hair the whole 8 hour flight out and beyond, her eyes are rimmed-red with smudges of brown at the corners, her lips are chapped and swollen like she’s been crying, and her sweatpants don’t match her hoodie. It’s almost like she’d thrown on whatever she could find and caught the first flight out, fresh out of bed.

“What’s going on?” He cuts straight to the chase, losing all formality and courtesy. He should feel bad for his callous greeting, but she had broken up with him over text not even a month ago - she doesn’t exactly deserve outstretched arms and a warm embrace, he thinks.

“Hi Talia, how have you been, Talia? It’s nice to see you Talia.” She mocks, a frown overtaking her features immediately. “I’m absolutely amazing, thanks for caring, Nico!” Sarcasm spews from her tongue like pure venom, and his eyes practically roll into the back of his head.

Nico pushes himself off of the door, heavy footsteps leading him into his kitchen where he can make himself a coffee to get through this. His watch reads 6:05 - far too early for her antics - and rising to her nagging is only going to make things worse.

“Do you want a drink?” He asks, as he busies himself with his coffee press, unable to look at her too long without the pricks of guilt irritating him.  He doesn’t even know what he has to feel guilty about.

“I’ll get it myself,” she scoffs, venturing over to the fridge and pouring out some orange juice - her movements around his space eerily natural. She slams back most of the drink as he works out how to brew his coffee - but she sees right through him. He’s hardly ever used the press before, and he’s just doing so now to avoid her in whatever capacity he can. “I need money.”

Nico’s almost positive he hasn’t heard her right - that there’s some kind of mix up between her standard German and his Swiss - and he slowly turns to properly face her, brows slanting into a deep frown as he assesses her expression.

She has a hand on her hip, her jaw set and her eyes darkened and serious. 

“You have money.”

Talia comes from money - her father is some kind of film producer and her mother an artist, if Nico remembers correctly - and she makes good money, herself. She’s been a print model since she was scouted in some market in Munich since she was 15, has had her face plastered in ads in magazines and catalogues around the world. She’s hardly strapped for cash. She gets things gifted to her by whatever company she can get a hold of. What could she possibly need him to give her money for?

“Not enough.” Her tone is cold, her demeanour the same, and if Nico can still gauge her emotions correctly, there’s an element of blame that she is starting to shift towards him, and his whole body starts to feel tense.

“Not enough for what?”

He can’t quite tell what feeling washes over him - worry, at the thought she’s gotten herself into some kind of trouble, stress, at the thought this could be a recurring thing, and potentially pity, at the way she’s so clearly carrying the weight of something heavy - something she’s lugged all the way across the Atlantic on a long haul flight with her.

“Not enough to pay the guy who’s blackmailing me not to leak the videos that I sent to you.”

“What vide-“ he bites back, and the immediate arch of her brow tells him all he needs to know. “Oh.”

Shit.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?” She sneers, fury in her gaze and dismay in her tone. “You’ve ruined my life, and all I get is an oh?”

“Whoa, slow down, I’ve ruined your life?”

Nico has never been one to shame any girl for sending explicit pictures - he’d been more than willing to receive them at the time - but he hadn’t ever forced her hand. He hadn’t even asked her for them, in the first place. 

She’d taken it upon herself to spice things up, as she had put it at the time, when the team had gone on the road in early December. It was just after he’d returned from his injury - a time in which he’d spent mentally distanced from her as he’d focused so much on getting back to the game, their relationship consisting mainly of not-so-passionate sex to avoid aggravating his injury and hardly of any kind of meaningful conversation - and she had thought that keeping him on his toes on a roadie would mean he’d come back more interested than ever.

If he’d been looking out for red flags at the time, he might have caught that blaring one; needing to try new things only a few months into a relationship to keep it fun and light.

He’d been in his hotel room in Seattle, freshly showered and ready to throw himself straight into bed when his phone had started to ping. It was suggestive texts at first, are you alone? And I’m thinking about you. Then it had been pictures, hands over lingerie and fingers between glossy, pouted lips.

And then videos, one after the other before he had any chance to respond - her phone set up far enough away that her whole body was in frame, touching herself while laying on his bed and calling out for him.

He had called her instead of sending anything back, and as he realises the severity of the situation, a selfish part of him is glad he did so.

“Talia, I didn’t even save those videos, and I definitely didn’t show them to anyone else.”

Nico could never. Not only for the fact that he was raised to be a decent human being, but he has a sister - if anyone ever did that to Nina, he’d tear them apart, limb from limb. 

“You’re the only person I’ve ever sent anything to.” She seems to have made her mind up, and Nico feels as if his heart plummets through his torso at the realisation. She’s travelled all this way because she genuinely believes he’s the cause of this - that he’s shared intimate videos of her without her consent, to someone who would extort her for them. “And he sent me some pictures as proof, had information about me like the address of this apartment.”

“Talia, I swear on my mother’s life, I wouldn’t do that to you - to anyone, not ever.”

Tears well in her crystalline eyes, and Nico waits with bated breath as she assesses the situation in her head. 

He isn’t a liar - he has never given her a reason to think he is one. In their time together, he had always been honest, always been loyal, and he hopes at the very least - despite her obvious distain for him now, and how little she ended up caring about their relationship in the end to cut it off in the way she did - she thought of him as kind. 

He can do nothing but be patient, let her come to whatever conclusion on her own, and it’s only when he spots the quiver in her bottom lip that he takes an apprehensive step forward, ready to console her if needed.

She practically throws herself into his arms, wrapping her own around his waist and bawling into his chest, and all he can do is hold her and wait. He tries to rub a soothing hand up and down her back, holding the other against her head as her body wracks with sobs. All he can feel is the pounding of his own heartbeat, pulsing throughout his entire body until it’s all he can hear, too.

Nico does his best to comfort her, shushing and cooing and whispering how it’s going to be alright, but it does little to help. She’s beyond relief.

“There’s a guy who said he can track whoever is doing this to me,” she sniffles as she pulls herself away. “He’s in Jersey City Heights, he’s some sort of ethical hacker, whatever that means, I’m going to meet him and he’s gonna go through my phone.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Nico doesn’t even hesitate to ask - if not to protect her, and make sure she isn’t unknowingly getting herself into an even more dangerous situation, then to protect himself too. If someone has Talia’s pictures, and she only sent them to him, there’s a possibility his phone had been hacked, and if this guy is as ethical as he says, maybe he can check Nico’s stuff, too, just to be safe.

She gives him an appreciative smile, eyes still glassy and cheeks flushed. “I’d really appreciate that.”

“I’m gonna shower, then we can go. You can grab whatever to eat while you’re waiting.” He backs away from her completely, only just able to acknowledge the ache in his muscles once the intensity of the situation has settled a little, and he just needs to stand under the steaming spray and clear his mind before he properly immerses himself in her company. 

He has a lot more than this whole mess that he needs to think about, and maybe a shower can bring him a little clarity on how exactly he’s going to explain himself to the beautiful girl whose bed he had abruptly left not even an hour ago. 

“Why are you dressed?”

Nico stops in his tracks.

When he had got back to his apartment, he’d made a little effort for it to seem like he’d been there all night. He’d gone through to his bedroom, mussed up his sheets to make it seem like he had been sleeping in them - and not with the anticipation that Talia was going to be entering his bedroom, but with her, he never knows - trying to retrace the steps of his usual routine before he goes to bed, he had closed all the blinds, had moved his gym bag by the door.

But he hadn’t changed.

Still adorned in his sweatshirt and jeans from the night before, the clothing feels all that much heavier on his body as she brings attention to it, and he quickly racks his brain to come up with a valid excuse that doesn’t rouse further suspicion.

“I fell asleep in these clothes.” As easy as the lie comes out, he doesn’t feel great saying it. Doesn’t feel like erasing the night he had shared with Poppy is for the greater good, even if it is just to Talia, but avoiding another difficult conversation is a must right now - especially when he’d already lied to her on the phone. “Was out late with the guys last night, Timo threw a party for my birthday.”

“Right,” she drags out, and when he turns back around, she casts a scrutinising glance over him, top to bottom. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“No worries,” he shrugs, genuinely not offended. She has no reason to remember his birthday. Not anymore. “Like I said, help yourself to whatever, I’ll try not to be long.” 

When he undresses for his shower, he’s thankful he hadn’t had the foresight to change in anticipation of Talia’s arrival. He probably would have donned a t-shirt and some shorts, oblivious to the visible indents on his thighs where Poppy had dug her nails in as she took him in her mouth.

His chest and torso are littered with scratches, some faint, some a little deeper, and he can’t get the right angle to see his back but he imagines they’re the same - the memory of her clutching at him as both of their climaxes approached is vivid enough for him to picture the marks she left behind.

He groans as the thought of her brings back that swirling feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he notices the blooming arousal pool there, and feels himself harden as he steps under the spray of his shower.

If his phone had been on do not disturb through the night, he could be in the shower with Poppy, instead.

He could have woken up to her in his arms, could have pecked at her sleep-swollen lips until it brought her out of her slumber, and spent his morning making up for lost time just like he had promised her last night. He could have made light work of the pleasure he had given her the night before - could have had her underneath him in her bed, tangled up in the mess of sheets and falling apart before they shared a morning shower, where he’d have held her up against the tiles and would’ve moved into her until they couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. He’d have made her breakfast, something sweet, so that as she sat and watched him atop the kitchen counter he had tasted her on for the first time not even 12 hours before, he’d press his tongue into her mouth after she had eaten and savour the flavour of strawberries that had settled between her lips.

Instead, he’s here, turning the temperature of his water down until any and all excitement in his body is dampened, and all he can focus on is the effect the cold has on all his other aching muscles.

Once he has showered and gotten dressed - and has come to the conclusion that any further thoughts about Poppy need to wait until the Talia problem is resolved and out of his hands, he finds his ex girlfriend sprawled across his couch, music playing from the speaker in the corner, and taking helping herself to a whole new level. 

Her case is opened where she had left it by the door, and she’s set herself a little vanity up on his coffee table, fixing her appearance before they leave.

She’s changed out of her mismatched sweats, has dressed herself in jeans and a sweater, and has found an extension cable long enough for her to plug in whatever hot tool she’s currently running through her hair.

“You take the longest showers in the history of man,” she rolls her eyes, not even casting a glance his way as she focuses on her own reflection in the little mirror she must have brought with her. “I do not want to know what it is you get up to in there.”

“I was barely 30 minutes, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, almost,” she runs the tool through her bangs until they flick out at the edges on either side of her face, and it reminds him of all the times he had watched her while waiting for her to finish getting ready. It makes him feel uneasy how familiar it all is, how she’s so quickly made herself at home again in his space.

He wants to tell her she needs to pack her stuff back up, that she won’t be staying here and needs to give his keys back, but the weight of the situation at hand dawns on him before he can open his mouth.

He’ll wait until they get back later, his decision depending on the outcome of their visit to her hacker friend.

As much as he doesn’t want her around, he isn’t going to kick her out with no place to go if her life is still shrouded in unsafe circumstances. 

Talia unplugs her stuff, wraps the cord around the handle of the brush she was using, and places it on a mat she must have brought with her so it doesn’t burn through the surface of the table. “Kay, let’s go.”

She marches ahead of him, picking up her bag and keys on the way out and leaving him to lock up while she calls for the elevator. They wait together in silence, his heart thudding an anxious rhythm in his chest as he anticipates the arrival of the elevator - and thankfully, it arrives empty.

He tries to distance himself from her as they enter, him standing in one corner, and hoping she takes the other, but she doesn’t quite get the memo, standing obliviously in the centre as she types away to someone on her phone and he presses the button to go to the basement.

Nico watches the numbers go down with bated breath. His floor, the next, the next one after that, and he uses any good will he has left with the universe to hope and pray it skips the floor coming up - but, as is just his luck, the elevator comes to a stop with a soft thud, and the doors open to reveal the very situation he’s been hoping to avoid. 

Jack walks straight in, eyes cast down to the phone in his hands, distractedly typing away and not even noticing the button for the parking level has been pressed before he pushes it, himself.

Luke notices straight away, halting in his movements to enter the space as his gaze flickers between the two people already occupying it. 

He diverts his eyes when they meet Nico’s head dropping as he steps in and stands beside his brother, uttering a quick greeting of, “Hey, Cap.”

Jack’s attention is captured immediately, spinning at an almost dizzying speed to face his captain, phone disregarded into his back pocket. “Schao! I thought you’d be at-,”

He’s thankfully able to tune into his perception before he carries on with his train of thought, a subtle movement in his peripheral diverting his gaze to the figure stood to the side of Nico. 

“Talia. Hi.”

“Hi, Jack.” Nico cringes inwardly at how disinterested she sounds. “Luke.” Talia had never really cared for Nico’s teammates - especially not the younger guys like Jack and Luke. She was quick to pass judgement, making comments on their maturity, or apparent lack-thereof, and wasn’t the biggest fan of how close Nico was with the pair. Didn’t like the time or attention he gave them considering the close quarters they lived in, and had always been resentful. She always claimed her English wasn’t good enough to hold a proper conversation with them, but he’d seen her enough around her American friends to know it wasn’t true.

“We’re just meeting up with some of the guys for breakfast.” Jack says, cautiously, in an attempt to fill the silence. The invitation remains unspoken, but Nico can tell in the way the younger boy cocks his head and meets his eye that he’s gauging his current situation for the morning.

“We have plans.” Talia must be able to tell what he was getting at, too and Nico can see Luke’s eyes narrow as soon as the word resonates in his head. Plans. Pre-meditated. Made before she had sprung all of this on him within the last hour or two. Panic stirs within him, and his throat itches to speak the truth, but it’s just not the right time to do so with Talia stood beside him. If he starts getting defensive, she’ll start asking questions, and the boys will have to bear witness to him skirting around the matter of Poppy. 

It’s not a good look no matter which way he swings it. He’s stuck in a thick, dark, tarry mess of not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings but making all the wrong decisions. A minefield of not knowing how to explain himself without raising a million questions on either side, and hoping one of the brothers might toe the line of the boundaries of their relationship and just straight up ask why Talia is here.

He knows he has fucked up without the way neither of them are looking him in the eye.

He knew it the second Poppy’s door had locked behind him this morning - he doesn’t need Luke refusing to meet his gaze, doesn’t need Jack’s shifting side eye to tell him he’s made a mistake. 

“I’ll text you later.” Nico says, mainly to Jack but still trying to meet his brother’s eyes with no luck. It’s an attempt to say something, without saying anything. A silent beg not to jump to conclusions about what they’ve seen - and, although he knows they wouldn’t, not to tell anyone else. Not whichever of the guys they are meeting up with, not anyone else on the team, and definitely not Poppy.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack mutters in a poor attempt to hide his discomfort, and an even worse attempt at masking his relief when the doors ping open on the parking level.

“Have fun with your plans,” Luke huffs out, his tone like a tight fist clutching at Nico’s chest despite his courteous choice of words.

“We will,” Talia forces a smile. Nico gets the feeling she isn’t as oblivious to the tension as he hopes she is.

The four of them separate into their pairs with mumbled goodbyes, Jack and Luke heading off to Luke’s car on one side of the garage, and Nico and Talia heading to his on the other, and Nico can’t even let out a sigh of pseudo-relief before Talia jumps on him.

“That was weird.”

“We broke up, they weren’t expecting to see us together.” He quickly excuses as he starts the car up, turning on the heat and hoping the soft buzz of the air will fill the silence enough that she doesn’t feel the need to talk. 

“It’s been like 3 weeks, most couples get back together after their first breakup.”

Has it only been 3 weeks? He thinks, shuddering at how little time had actually passed between her sending that text and him restoring balance to his life.

“We’re not most couples,” he shrugs, shutting that train of thought immediately as he starts to make his way out of the parking garage, ascending the ramp where the doors open up to reveal the dull beam of the winter morning sun. “You dumped me over text a week before Christmas, we’re not getting back together.”

“Oh yeah, I bet you were real cut up about it,” she jibes, sarcastically. “Probably landed straight in the bed of some desperate puck bunny more than happy to take your mind off of how awful I was to you.”

His mind immediately goes to Poppy, to last night, to her bed - and despite the complete bullshit Talia has fabricated in her head, despite how much he wants to tell her she has it all wrong, he can’t bear to twist himself even further into knots to skirt around mentioning the girl who did make him better.

“We’re not having this conversation right now.” He decides, tapping at the screen in the console of his car until he brings up the navigation. “Put in the address you need, we’re not too far from The Heights.”

The location she enters into the system is for an unassuming condo in a quiet, suburban area. The neighbourhood itself is picturesque, the buildings colourful, the paths lined with trees that seemed to flourish even in the midst of winter, and when Nico pulls up across the street, he notices the amount of families around - parents walking their kids to school and couples with dogs getting their morning steps in. It’s the last place he imagines some hacker to be shacked up, but maybe that’s the point.

He still doesn’t entirely understand the ethical part.

“It’s the one with the red brick and the balcony,” Talia points to the other side of the road as she unbuckles her seatbelt, and Nico looks over at the building as if he’s going to be able to see all the secrets stored within it.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, number 414.” She shows him the messages she has exchanged with the guy, and sure enough, the address matches up. “C’mon, the sooner we get in there, the sooner we can figure this out.”

He follows her across the street, adjusting the cap he wears atop his head and making sure it conceals his identity from anyone with eyesight good enough to catch it, trying to shrug off the discomfort of the whole situation as he waits for someone to pick up the buzzer Talia relentlessly presses.

He hears a different kind of buzz, lighter, like the manual zoom of a camera, and cranes his neck to assess their surroundings as they wait, before he catches sight of the device in the top corner of the porch, facing directly onto them.

He hears the click of a lock as soon as his eyes make contact with the thing, and cautiously tries the handle on the door until it pushes all the way down, letting them into the building. 

The door to the ground floor condo is open, and stood in the entrance is a guy no older than 20, dressed in all black with dark, beady eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. If Nico could find it in him to see the humour in the situation, he’d laugh at how he looks like Luke - a mop of curly brown hair, tall with a slim build and ever so slightly poor posture.

He straightens up as the two of them approach, Nico keeping Talia behind him as he assesses the safety of the situation. If they’re being lured into some kind of trap, he could definitely take this guy - he can’t even maintain direct eye contact, never mind manage to subdue a man of Nico’s stature.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone, Talia.”

He’s soft-spoken, his voice ever so nasally, and despite the fact that he’s talking to the girl behind him, his gaze has settled on Nico’s chest.

“My name’s Nico.” He introduces himself, holding out a hand to shake. He thinks he can write him off as a threat, for now, and if making him feel comfortable encourages him to help them, he wants to put him at ease. “

“I know who you are.” He doesn’t shake Nico’s hand. “I’m Myles. Come in.”

Myles doesn’t wait for the two of them, marching back into his place and leaving the door open for Talia and Nico to enter and close behind them. 

Nico isn’t surprised by the space - from his brief encounter with the resident so far, it fits him to a tee; neat, impersonal, furniture that looks fresh out of a catalogue. He follows him over to the corner of his living room, a PC set up with several monitors that he can’t tell are on until they’re standing straight in front of them.

Myles throws himself down into the large swivel chair, spinning until he’s facing the two of them and crossing his arms over his torso with disinterest. “So, nudes?”

Straight to the point. Nico can’t exactly be mad at it.

Talia steps out from behind him, handing her unlocked phone to Myles. “The messages started last week, just after New Years. Straight to my number, not in DMs or anything, but the number doesn’t even come up for me to call it from another phone or anything, just says unknown.”

Myles takes her phone and plugs it into his setup without even looking at whatever she has opened on it, and Nico watches as the screens come alive with mirrors of the device and some other apps that launch as soon as it connects. 

“That’s more helpful than you think, they have to use an app to be able to anonymously text you, makes it easier to identify them.”

The way Myles talks is monotonous and detached, but the way he works is anything but. His fingers move quicker than Nico’s eyes can track on his keyboard, typing away at whatever as different things flash up and leave his screen. It like something straight out of a spy movie.

“So we can find out who it is just from that?” He asks, arms folding over his chest as he watches in almost-awe.

“Not exactly. If it is a hacker, I could identify their signature. Doesn’t mean I could identify them, but we can work around it potentially.”

Talia throws herself down on the couch behind them exasperatedly, sighing loudly and making her displeasure known. “You told me you could track them down, that’s what I’m paying you to do.”

“I told you I could help you, I didn’t say I could specifically track anyone, that’s not how this works.”

“How does it work then?” Nico asks.

Myles wheels his chair to the side to make room for Nico to get closer, and starts walking him through the process, pointing through the different apps he uses and explaining how he uses them. One deciphers which app the person used to message Talia. Once that’s been deduced, he uses another to enter a backdoor into that app’s servers, perusing through them until he finds the account that sent the text, making sure the date, time and then content line up. Once he’s found the account, he can see the other texts sent from it, and a gallery spreads across two screens, with maybe hundreds of pictures, videos, messages and transactions all to or from that same account.

“You’re telling me you have the power to do all this and you don’t use it to like rob banks or something?”

“Ethical hacker, clue’s in the name.” Myles shrugs. Nico looks back to Talia, her jaw set as she picks at her nails out of boredom. It’s probably taken about fifteen minutes for this guy to work an absolute miracle, and she looks like she couldn’t care less. “We use all this information, and the access I have on the server, to shut this dude down and cut his con before he can do it to anyone else.”

“Whoa whoa,” Talia shoots up, “Won’t that make him mad? Make him just post all the photos?”

“I doubt it,” the hacker comments, bringing up a couple of the photos on the screens, some of Talia, some of another girl, making Nico divert his eyes. “They’re not even real.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Excuse me?”

Talia and Nico both question at the same time, leaning in to get a proper look to confirm what is being told to them. The other pictures Myles had brought up, the ones of other girls, are actually kind of the same. The same poses, the same backgrounds, the same outfits, or lack thereof, just different faces and different hair.

“They’re called deep fakes. Photoshop, essentially.” He has that aloof tone to his words again, and Nico can’t quite believe how simple it seems for him to say. “They put a bunch of your pictures into an AI generator and give it instruction, like put this face on a body posed like this or wearing that. I’d assume the video they have is the same.”

“How is that even possible?” Talia gasps, pushing herself forward and snatching the mouse from Myles’ grasp. She clicks into what she assumes is the video, and it starts playing before she can think better of it, thankfully without any sound. 

It’s Talia - that much is obvious from the initial close up of her face - but Nico doesn’t recognise anything else about it. He doesn’t recognise the room she’s in, the bed she’s on, the things she’s doing. He’s never seen this before. It’s definitely not one of the videos she had sent him, and when he looks closer, he realises the little moles on her ribs aren’t even there.

None of it is real.

“You said he sent you the photos? You didn’t realise they weren’t the ones you took?” He can’t conceal the bite in his tone, his brows furrowing as he looks at her in disbelief. She’s flown out here, disrupted his peace, blamed him for blackmailing her, and she can’t even recognise what is or isn’t her own body. 

“They looked real, I-,” Her shock disappears as quickly as it had come about, her mood shifting and a glare all of a sudden being directed at her ex boyfriend. “I wouldn’t have accused you if they didn’t look real, Nico.” She snaps, frowning at him like this is his fault. “You have no idea what it’s like to be threatened like that, I won’t have you blame me for panicking.”

Slivers of guilt seep into his subconscious, and he takes a deep breath, diverting his gaze uneasily and letting out a big sigh.

He knows he should be a little more compassionate, but there’s panicking, and then there’s this.

She had accused him of ruining her life.

“What about the rest of it?” Nico asks, “Like how did he get her number or have my address? You said he had other information?”

“He did,” Talia nods, looking over to Myles.

“The address he probably got when he got your number, and he could have got that from anywhere. Could be something as small as you ordering something online and the store having a data breach, or clicking a link that shared your IP address, and getting your phone information from that.” Myles starts his typing again, keeping a tight grip on his mouse so that it can’t be snatched again. “I could probably find out actually, they’re pretty easy to spot, do you clear your history often?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to do that,”

“Perfect,” Again, his fingertips work at lightening speed, and Nico watches as instagram opens on one of the screens. “Yeah, a DM sent to you from… Devils_tea. You opened a link to a shared drive to upload some pictures, the drive probably had malware and the pictures have location metadata.”

Nico rolls his eyes, that small ebb of pity washing almost completely away, and before Talia can stop him, Myles carries on. “Some of the pictures you sent them are the ones they used for the AI photos, look your face in this one is the exact same as this photo they threatened to leak.”

Nico recognises these photos. The ones that had been plastered all over social media when their relationship had leaked. Pictures of them back in Switzerland, on a weekend trip to Ibiza, selfies of them in his apartment, and even a picture of the two of them with his parents back at his family home in Valais.

He has been far too oblivious to Talia’s games for far too long, he realises. 

Of course she had been the one to leak everything - who else would have had those photos - but he hadn’t even considered it would be her; she had faced the harshest aftermath for it, why would she subject herself to all the subsequent grief that came with people knowing about their relationship?

Thank God for this guy’s lack of social cues, Nico thinks, or he would never have known that for as long as they had been together, she had been violating his revered privacy and trust.

“Nico, that wasn’t-,” Talia’s panic is evident, wide eyes, trembling hands raised in defence, “I must have been hacked,”

“Actually, there’s no-,” Myles begins to interject, fingers working again to fact check, but Nico doesn’t need him to validate what he already knows.

“Shut up,” Talia snarls, with a finger pointed at him, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re done here.” She reaches forward to snatch her phone back, yanking out the wire that connects it to his monitors and throwing it onto the desk. “We’re leaving, and if you think I’m paying you anything, you’re deluded.” 

Talia marches past them and straight out of the condo, slamming every door she possibly can behind her. Nico can only cringe as the sounds of her stomping footsteps echo until they fade out - until she’s probably outside and waiting for him back at his car.

“Doesn’t she want me to shut this thing down?”

“I’ll pay you.” Nico sighs, reaching into his pocket for his phone and trying to push down the feeling that arises when he’s met with a blank lock screen.

Poppy hasn’t messaged him. 

Not that he deserves for her to make it easy, to let him off the hook and pretend he hasn’t royally fucked things up with her.

“If you stop him, does he still have all the photos? He could still release them?”

“Yeah, but they’re pretty easy to validate as fakes, especially when you have the source material. I don’t think this guy is sophisticated enough for a full blown hack into her phone for the real thing. I couldn’t find evidence of any breach of her cloud or her device.”

Nico nods, but the information does little to quell the anxiety that squeezes his chest in a vice-like grip. 

This whole morning has been nothing but a giant waste of his time. From the second his eyes opened, to this moment right now, he’s made nothing but mistakes.

Not putting his phone on sleep mode before he and Poppy went to bed had been a mistake. Taking Talia’s call had been a mistake. Not waking Poppy up had been a mistake. Leaving without a note, without a text, leaving at all - it had all been one error after another, and all he has left to do is face up to the fact.

He can’t do anything to dwindle the panic rousing in every fibre of his being, the scarring marks left by torturous lashings of regret that whip at his skin.

He’s never felt so ashamed of himself, in such disbelief at his own decisions.

Why didn’t he just wake her?

She’s the most level-headed, acceptable person he knows. She would have understood. He hadn’t had a reasonable explanation at the time, and he doesn’t really have one now - but she would have accepted it, whatever he could have told her, she would have listened, waited until he could give her more.

He needs to see her, to explain, before it’s too late.

If he thinks about the feeling settling in his stomach, if he can compare it to anything, it’s like running from a blazing inferno of doubt and insecurity, licks of fire racing to catch up to him, the soles of his feet pressing into the sizzling ground - and Poppy is the cool embrace of safety.

She is light cracking through a window he just needs to break through to make it out.

If he can get to her quick enough, if he runs, and runs, maybe he’ll make it before he’s jiggling at a red hot handle that won’t move, won’t give, won’t budge.

If he can just talk to her, maybe the morning from hell will be outweighed by the days of resilience, weeks of efforts, years of loving her in whatever capacity, and the promise of something better.

He just needs to get rid of Talia.

The car journey back to his apartment is carried out in a deafening silence. She had tried to talk to him when he’d made his way out of Myles’ condo, when he had found her waiting by his Mercedes with crossed arms and a sour look on her face, but he’d told her he didn’t want to hear it, that they’d deal with it in private.

He hardly wanted a showdown with her in the middle of the street.

And so, she sat in his passenger seat, jaw set, glaring out the window and letting out the occasional huff or puff for attention that he wasn’t entertaining.

The elevator ride up to his place had been the same. Silent, filled with the type of tension you could cut with a knife, and all he could do was ignore her continued petulance and take deep breaths to calm himself down. In through his nose, out through his mouth, overlooking the way she tapped her foot in his peripheral vision, and almost audibly rolled her eyes every few seconds. 

“Would it have killed you to defend me in there?” She scoffs as soon as the door closes behind them in his apartment, “You just let him accuse me of all that stuff and completely invade my privacy!”

Nico screws his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He can’t blow up, can’t stoop to her level. He won’t feel good after the fact. He knows how Talia operates, should have known she’d immediately play the victim card, and he isn’t falling into the trap of arguing to the point of being in the wrong.

He’ll say something he regrets and she’ll use it to her advantage, somehow.

“You asked him to go through your phone, Talia.” He sighs, making his way over to the kitchen and getting himself some water. Chugging at it does little to soothe the burning feeling prickling at the back of his mouth, or the itch of his tongue to spit out a scathing retort. “He’s shut down the guy behind it, he can’t message you or anyone else with any more threats, you should be happy.”

“I should be happy?” She follows him wherever he tries to get away, crowding his space and jabbing a pointed finger into his arm. “You have no idea what I’ve been going through this past week. I thought my career was over! How was I supposed to know it was fake?”

“You didn’t even look at the pictures-,”

“Because I was panicking! I was upset, you can’t expect me to be able to recognise what’s been photoshopped when I’m scared like that!”

“But you can fly straight over here and pin the blame on me for ruining your life? You weren’t too upset to point the finger, Talia,”

“Don’t be an asshole, Nico, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“I’m being the asshole? You don’t even care about the trail of destruction you leave behind you, do you? You send private pictures of us, of me, of my family to random people online who you don’t even know, for what, Talia? For money?”

“I don’t need their money-,”

“So it was just for the attention? You get to parade our relationship around like it means nothing more to you than a title, and once you get your fifteen minutes and a few more instagram followers, you just jet back home and dump me over a text?”

“Oh my God,” she cries, flailing her arms dramatically, following him yet again as he makes his way into his living room, picking her stuff up after her that she had discarded here before they left and throwing it into her travel bag. “Stop playing the victim, for Christ’s sake, you’re hardly heartbroken over it. I know for a fact you’ve been hooking up with someone, one of the girls messaged me that they saw you leave a party with her on New Years!”

“So that’s what this is?” Nico snaps, pointing to her, to her stuff, “You think I’m moving on so you fly back out here and spring this bullshit on me, try to make me feel bad?”

“You have some nerve, Nico,” Talia scoffs, folding her arms across her chest and levelling him with a darkened glare.

“I have nerve? You’re the one who broke up with me out of nowhere and think that you can just march back here and make demands, Talia, blaming me for something that was entirely your own doing.” He’s getting sick of walking on egg shells around the topic. If she hadn’t have been messaging people she wasn’t supposed to, this would never have happened - it’s no one’s fault but her own, and as harsh as it may be, he wants to wash his hands of the whole thing. “Calling me in the middle of the night, telling me I ruined your life, saying I need to give you money?”

“Out of nowhere?” Of course she would only pick up on that, he thinks. “My God, you are so self-absorbed.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you think that dating you is easy?” She questions with a measured step toward him. “Do you think I want to spend my life waiting around for my boyfriend, only for him to only ever come home grumpy,” another step, “Or whiny,” and another, “Or too tired and achey to do anything? And that’s when you do come home at all and aren’t half way across the country with the communication skills of a candle. It’s a constant uphill battle trying to get even a second of your attention, Nico, so God forbid I tried to gain some kind of advantage from being with you.”

Her words are starting to cut, but he tries not to react, tries not to bite back. He can count several ways in which she gained an advantage being with him, just off the top of the head - a girl like Talia is never shy of attention. Her courting gossip blogs and sending them private information is probably just scraping the barrel of the ploys she made for exposure while she was with him.

“I didn’t break up with you out of nowhere, I put up with you and the whole circus that comes with you for months, but God, is it exhausting being with you.”

“You knew what you were getting into, Talia. You knew my job, knew my life.” They had met initially through mutual friends - hockey friends of his back home, even - and she has other friends who happen to be wives or girlfriends of athletes. She can’t say she came into the relationship completely oblivious to the downsides of dating a professional player.

“Not really,” she shrugs, “All the other guys can find some sort of balance, but not you. All the other girls get a proper boyfriend, someone who spends time doing what they want to do, who sticks up for them when their psycho fans start to turn on them, who doesn’t keep them hidden away like some dirty secret.”

“That isn’t fair, I can’t control that stuff, Talia, it’s not my fault.” He wants to point out that she was the one engaging in their gossip and riling them up, but he can’t keep harping on about something she refuses to acknowledge. He doesn’t have the time, patience or energy for it anymore.

The initial ‘leaking’ of their relationship had caused their first major fight. Fans online had somehow - although Nico can now hazard a guess as to how - found out about the two of them, had dug into Talia, her background, her family, her job, and had found some pretty toxic posts on her social media. They had been old posts, and she had told Nico that wasn’t the kind of person she was anymore - and he had no reason not to believe her, had never seen or heard her act in the ways she had online in what she called her misguided youth - but someone in the PR department at the Devils had cottoned onto the topic, and had warned Nico of speaking out in her defence when the pitchforks started to raise.

He’d told her he supported her, but he couldn’t do so publicly - not without upsetting people within the organisation he had worked so hard to gain the respect of - and she had told him she understood. They hadn’t been together that long, it would have been a little unreasonable for him to put her above his work in the ways she was expecting, but she clearly doesn’t see it that way, now.

“Maybe not, but if I’d have known that being with you meant having my life invaded, my career ruined, I never would have followed you back here, Nico.” She sounds more solemn now - regretful, even - and as deep as her words cut, she says it like a piece of advice, “I just hope whatever poor girl you’ve got tangled up in your mess this time knows what she’s getting herself into.”

“And what’s that?” His throat feels tight as he speaks all of a sudden, his resolve in defending himself fading, and he tries to gulp down whatever lump is forming there but the feeling doesn’t budge.

This is what she’s good at.

Turning the tables. Reducing him to uncertainty of himself, of his actions, of his memory of their time together.

“A one-sided relationship with a guy who will never be able to put her first.”

There’s a point in every game he has ever had the misfortune of losing, as the seconds count down in the final third, where he has to come to terms with the fact that there’s no possible way for him to win. It’s sort of comparable to the way his insides churn when he’s on a plane and it drops into descent, like his body is falling at a different speed to his surroundings, or the feeling he gets in his gut when he’s hiking, and he dares to take a peek over the edge of whatever mountainside he’s trekking up, where his body can predict the fall, and his mind has set on there being nothing he can do about it.

This feels like all those feelings.

“Whoever she is, and I know she exists, she doesn’t deserve that. It’s not fair.”

Nico’s heart pounds in his chest, echoing and thrumming in his ears until all he can hear is the beat reverberating, ricocheting around his skull.

He can put Poppy first.

So many parts of their lives are intertwined, it would be so easy to make it work. They work together, they live close, he speaks to her more than he speaks to anyone else in his circle. They’ve spent more time together as friends than he has with any other girlfriend he’s had.

He’s wanted her for years, of course he can do it.

Except, deep down, he knows he can’t. Being in a committed relationship with someone is an entirely different ball game to a friendship, no matter how close he and Poppy have been over the years.

He knows there’ll come a point soon into the season where he has to knuckle down and focus, can’t let anything or anyone distract him, and he’ll close himself off. It’s what he has always done. He gets in his head, starts to carry too much weight that he can’t shift until that final buzzer blows - and he can only hope that it happens with his team in the playoffs. Winning, thriving, succeeding. And for that to happen, he can’t prioritise anything other than the game he’s already dedicated his life to, his training, and most importantly, his team.

It isn’t about what he wants.

What have you done? He thinks, his chest aching.

Talia is right.

Poppy doesn’t deserve that.

She doesn’t deserve him only being there in the physical sense, if she even gets that at all. Doesn’t deserve him getting snappy and stressed, doesn’t deserve him not being able to give her time, or give her attention or affection like he wants to, or like she’s worthy of.

“I need to go.” He manages to choke out with a shake of his head, shouldering past her to pick up his jacket - needing to be out of this conversation and away from Talia. “Leave the keys, I don’t want you here when I get back.”

He needs to see Poppy.

He never should have left her - he wishes with everything in him that he had soaked up the time he had with her before everything came tumbling down around him. And somewhere deep within him, there is a fragile, wilting piece of hope that clings to the belief he can make things right. He just needs her to hone in on it. If anyone can reach into the deepest cracks of his insecurities, can show him he’s overthinking things and everything is not as hopeless as he has made it out to be, it will be Poppy.

Poppy

The first time Poppy had ever fallen asleep beside Nico was at a movie night in Jack’s old apartment he shared with Ty Smith. Jack had invited more people round than could reasonably fit in their living room, and so everyone was smushed in - each chair and every inch of floor space used to its full capacity. 

Nico had attempted to save Poppy a space, to give him credit. He had scowled at each of his teammates who tried to throw themselves down in the tiny slot beside him - prime space, corner of the comfiest couch, facing the tv directly, a small table to the side where one could keep their drinks and snacks - only, by the time Poppy got there, he had barely gotten away with man-spreading to make room, so the small section of the couch between Nico and the arm rest had become her designated spot.

It was cosy, to put it nicely. He had to swing his arm over the back so that she wasn’t being assaulted by the hard dig of his shoulder with every laugh, and her closest leg was pretty much on top of his for most of the film.

She’d known the guys for almost a year - had been working in media, attending every game, home and away, and had integrated herself into the group pretty closely - and she felt pretty comfortable around everyone.

It wasn’t the kind of dynamic she had anticipated falling into when she first got the job with the Devils. She was supposed to start getting serious about her life - cracking down on mingling with co-workers and throwing herself into new social circles, and focusing on building a career for herself, climbing through the ranks and attaining the kind of success and happiness she could shove in her family’s disapproving faces - but the guys had charmed her.

Jack had been somewhat relentless in his pursuit of Poppy’s friendship. He rarely took no for an answer when it came to inviting her out. He was new to New Jersey - a much younger player in a slightly older team - and his rookie season had been rough, so it came naturally to Poppy to want to provide comfort. She introduced him to some of her friends, showed him her favourite spots close to his apartment, found him a decent barber, picked up extra fruit whenever she went to the farmers market near her parent’s house and took it over to his and Ty’s place when she came back home so she could mother him into having his 5-a-day as if he didn’t have access to the best nutrition coaches in the country. Despite her best efforts, Jack had weaselled his way under her skin in the way only a brother could.

Nico’s charm was entirely different.

Nico’s charm came in the form of convenience at first - in the oh I live that way, I can drive you and I have some time, I can do some media stuff for you type of way. Convenience blended into companionship - I haven’t eaten either, we should go for lunch together and I’ve been wanting to watch that movie, do you want to watch it with me?

It turned into grabbing food together, even on days neither of them were working - breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, even coffee or sometimes drinks if they could meet up with the rest of the team. It turned into him spending time at her place, whether it was helping her paint her apartment, putting up her new wardrobes, or just binging whatever crazy long series Poppy had decided to start over from the beginning - she provided him with a sense of familiarity and calm he couldn’t really find in anyone else he had met in his time in the states. She became his person, his home away from home, away from home.

And he became hers. 

There wasn’t as much she had to escape; her job not as strenuous, the expectations of her not as high, but when things built up for her - when her mother became overbearing, or her latest endeavour into a relationship crashed and burned - Nico was there. He’d make sure she had a distraction, made sure she was looking after herself, and, in turn, would look after her as well. He made sure she got home safe on nights out, or when they returned from a roadie and landed late - he would always make sure to see her off into the comfort of her own home before he went back to his own. 

And that first time she’d fallen asleep beside him, he’d done the same.

He’d wrapped an arm around her to make her as comfortable as possible for as long as he could, and when the movie had finished - when her face was burrowed into the side of his chest, soft snores falling from between her lips - he gently drew her back to consciousness with his hand stroking at her cheek.

She’d been a little startled, hand shooting up to wipe at her chin and thankful she hadn’t been drooling on him - although with the easy smile he was giving her, she had thought he of all people wouldn’t have minded. 

“Movie’s done, do you need a ride home?” His voice had been low and soft as not to worsen her apparent disorientation, and his hand was still lingering by the side of her face.

She had nodded, blinking away her sleepiness, and working her way up from the couch and onto her feet, stretching out her muscles as Nico did the same.

The two of them bid their goodbyes to the rest of the guys, made their way together to Nico’s car, and he had driven her back to her apartment, chatting on the drive about work and training. 

Poppy had been cramming to prepare for her interview for the Foundation at the time - had been getting herself seriously worked up, staying up late, getting up early, barely allowing herself any time for anything fun - and Nico had seen right through her. 

He’d stopped her before she got out of the car, had held her hand, rubbing at her knuckles with his thumb, and had told her that she should get some proper rest, and that she was going to absolutely rock their world in her interview in a few days time. And, knowing she was going to ignore any instruction he gave to make herself some decent dinner and go to bed early, had ordered her favourite Japanese takeout to be delivered a good half an hour after she got inside, with a text that followed telling her to sleep straight after she had finished.

She’d never expected to drift asleep with him on Jack’s couch - had never expected to open her eyes to the sight of his looking so warmly back at her.

And she hadn’t expected the same thing this morning, because, as her eyes drifted open to the intrusive light peaking through the cracks in her curtains, it wasn’t the first time she had woken up.

The first time had been to subdued movements, a slight groan of her bed frame, and the soft pattering of footsteps leading away. It had been to a hushed voice, the creak of her bathroom door, the flush of a toilet and the uttering of a name she had hoped she would never have to worry about again.

Talia.

The rest of his words had been uttered in his own language, but that she could understand.

She had acted purely on fight or flight instinct, laying back and pretending she was asleep - although as soon as she did, she regretted it, her mind racing at the million and one other possibilities she could have gone with. Sitting up, waiting for him to come out and asking him what was going on being the most rational.

But when had she ever gone with the most rational thought?

She tried not to react as she felt his presence, felt the soft press of his lips to her skin, or the placement of her bunny in her arms. Tried not to follow him as soon as he departed her bedroom, beg him to come back and whatever was going on could wait until the proper turn of the morning. Tried not to get up and go after him when the click of the lock to her main door echoed throughout the empty apartment.

And she tried not to cry as she laid in bed, overthinking herself back to sleep, thoughts racing to the point of exhaustion, and hoping when she woke up again it had just been a god-awful dream.

But it hadn’t.

The spot beside her in bed is empty, not even a crease in the pillow to prove he was ever there - only the t-shirt of his she still adorned, the one that when she takes a deep inhale, still smells like him, and the distinct aching between her thighs.

She finds more evidence of their night together in the bathroom, where she undresses herself with sore muscles and glances in the mirror to see the spattering of purple marks forming on her chest and neck. Her fingers trace over them lightly, her fleeting touch bringing vivid images forth of his lips pressing to her skin, practically able to feel the pressure of her flesh being nipped and bitten again.

He had been so attentive to her - so in tune with what she needed and wanted, and so ready to give her whatever that may be. He’d been gentle at some points, and purposeful at others, and every little thing he did, he did it with sweet disposition.

The kind of man who treats a girl like that doesn’t just leave her in the dead of night with no good reason, right?

Her mind races despite her body going into auto-pilot throughout her morning routine. Her shower is over in the flash of an eye, she strips her bed, starts her laundry, makes herself some tea and gets herself dressed - all the while weighing out all the possibilities of what could have taken him away from her, and what she would be able to understand. 

That quickly turns to her imagining the worst, and a tight, constricting feeling starts to consume her chest. 

There isn’t a single part of her apartment she can get away from the thoughts buzzing around her brain - her kitchen marred with the memory of what had happened on the counter, her couch, her bedroom, her bathroom - all carrying distinct memories of Nico that she needs to bench until she knows the truth.

She mistakenly thinks her escape might lie in her phone. There might be a text there waiting, explaining everything and relieving all the anxiety that has welled up in her very core.

Nia’s warnings from the night before don’t ring quick enough in her mind as the screen comes to life, the immediate barrage of notifications flooding in.

2 missed calls from Mom

Mom: Just calling to remind you of proper table etiquette in case it has slipped your mind, I won’t have you embarrass me in front of a Lyon.

Mom: Cutlery going from the outside in, hold your wine glass by the stem and dab with your napkin, don’t swipe!

Mom: Also let the man tuck your chair in and pay the bill, this 21st century woman nonsense is very unbecoming!

Mom: And I don’t want to have to bring this up but for the love of God, Poppy, have some class. I don’t want to hear mutterings of your promiscuity at the next luncheon.

Whoever taught her mom to text deserves a prison sentence, she thinks.

Tucker Lyon standing a girl up and ghosting her attempts to contact him is what’s unbecoming, not her trying to pay her half of the meal.

She can picture her mother as she reads the texts, sipping on her Manhattan on the couch in the great room, her dad already having retreated to bed at that time, and her having nothing better to do than sit and stew on her daughter’s sex life.

If she knew what was really going down last night, her mom would probably have a conniption.

Knowing she’ll no doubt be getting a call later that evening, Poppy swipes away at her text thread with her mom, immediately checking the notifications she hasn’t long received from her best friend.

Nia: hey if you happen to release yourself from Nico’s wandering hands at all today me and Kelsey are grabbing breakfast by my work!!

Nia: if you need refuelling we’ll be at Marco’s at 9 😘 

Perfect. Therein lies her escape. Breakfast with her best friends, where they can hopefully talk her down from the ledge she’s precariously placed herself on.

A catch up with her girls, and then she can distract herself with work.

Poppy: I’ll be there!!

“Hasn’t he text you or anything?” Nia asks, covering her mouth as she chews on her breakfast bagel, the three girls sat around a table inside their favourite cafe close to Nia’s office.

When Poppy and Nia had first moved in together, they rented an apartment in Hoboken, not too far, and their tradition of grabbing breakfast at Marco’s carried on despite Poppy living further down the river and working even further away in Newark. 

Kelsey had lived in Manhattan at that time, but she stayed over so often with the other girls that she practically spent majority of her week there, and so Poppy and Nia’s routine became hers.

Poppy had given the two of them a brief rundown of her night with Nico, a safe-for-work version of events, all leading up to the mysterious early morning phone call and swift departure.

“Nope,” she sighs, swiping to refresh her messages as if she hasn’t put her phone on loud just to be alerted when he does reach out.

“Have you text him?”

“Nope,” she repeats, putting the phone down and leaning back in her chair, running a hand through her already messed up hair. She’s going to have to throw it up if she wants to look any sort of presentable when she gets to work later.

“Is he usually this pathetic at communicating?” Kelsey asks, manicured nails swiping at a bunch of Sweet’n Lows like she’s trying to play Tetris with the packets. 

Kelsey hasn’t met Nico before, not that Poppy can remember.

Despite considering her one of her closest friends, their personal lives have never quite intertwined like that - not like hers and Nia’s.

In college, things were different. They were coming into their own together, figuring out just what they wanted their personal lives to be, and so Kelsey, Poppy and Nia would all share pretty much everything, just to have someone there to validate their feelings.

But that changed once they graduated.

Kelsey moved in with her boyfriend, Liam - who just so happens to be Poppy’s idea of hell-spawn.

The kind of guy her mother would probably love.

Liam worked on Wall Street, couldn’t go five minutes of conversation without talking about stocks or investment funds. His native language was risky money moves and belittling remarks, and he treated Kelsey like an accessory to parade around in public and discard in private.

Poppy had tried a few times to open Kelsey’s eyes to the way that it was, but it soon became apparent that she had to let her friend make her own mistakes, and some parts of their lives didn’t have to cross over.

They broke up around Thanksgiving, and Poppy had tried with all her might not to show her relief, but it has made her somewhat resentful when it comes to other relationships - like no one can be happy if she isn’t.

She knows it isn’t malicious, but she restrains from letting Kelsey all the way in, all the same.

“Not really,” Poppy lies, not wanting to clue her in on the Big Freezewhere he didn’t speak to her for months on end. It doesn’t entirely help her case. “I just don’t get why he’d sneak out to see her of all people, he told me they weren’t ever that solid, that he wasn’t happy with her.”

“Ooh, what if she’s pregnant?” Kelsey is entirely oblivious to the horrific realm of possibility she has just opened Poppy up to, evidenced by the casual chuckle and subsequent sip of her coffee. “Maybe she’s back to baby-trap him.”

Poppy thinks she would have to flee the state.

Nico is a family guy - if Talia is pregnant, he’d force himself to love her again, if he ever even stopped, for the sake of their gorgeous brown eyed, floppy haired baby, and push Poppy to the side just like he had before. And she’ll have to watch him from the sidelines, yearning for what she had just managed to touch the tips of her fingers to before it was violently yanked from her grasp. 

Maybe she’d have to flee the country even - move somewhere remote where she doesn’t even have the chance of being reminded of hockey, let alone of him.

Somewhere with no coffee shops that she’d enter, and the smell of fresh pastries would remind her of all the breakfasts they had together. No railways, where she’d be reminded of his love for model trains every time she came across the tracks. No weird club music that he loves so much, or dorky wizard franchises he chastises her for never having seen.

Maybe Antarctica. They only have penguins there. No real civilisation that she knows of. No brown haired, dark eyed Swiss Gods with deep, honeyed voices that make her knees weak and dimpled smiles that do even worse.

She wouldn’t be able to cope with losing him like that, living her life in an endless mental cycle of what ifs and maybes.

“Kelsey, I beg of you to read the room,” Nia chastises, swatting the girl on her arm before taking Poppy’s hand in her own. “Don’t listen to her, she just wants us all to be single at the same time.”

“Sue me for wanting to have fun! It would be just like college, you and me full-body plunging into the dating pool. Imagine the chaos, Pop, you don’t wanna be tied down to a guy hung up on his ex right now.”

“Dating pool?” Nia scoffs, turning to glare at her, “You’re hardly dry from your last relationship.”

“I’d rather be a grape than a raisin, Ni.” Kelsey chides back, and Poppy can’t help the twitch of her lips at the horrific comparison. 

“You’re really gonna listen to a girl who says that?” Nia asks, unable to mask the glint of humour in her eyes, and Kelsey bites back a smile, too.

Despite the ache in her chest at the thought of any of it - of Nico leaving her this morning, filling her up with empty words and false promises, potentially knocking up an ex girlfriend he is still secretly hung up on even though he told her otherwise - she manages to crack a full smile.

“You are terrible at analogies, Kels,” Poppy tries to hide the grin behind her cup, sipping at her tea and letting the warmth of it soothe the pain in her throat. 

“I’m trying to encourage you to be a strong, independent woman here!”

“She is a strong, independent woman,” Nia defends, “She also happens to be a chronic over-thinker with a deep seated fear of confrontation.”

“I don’t fear confrontation.”

“Then why are we here chit-chatting about hypothetical scenarios when you could just text him and ask what’s up?”

“Maybe ‘cause that’s scary?” Poppy scoffs, only half joking. “What am I supposed to say, hey I just so happened to eavesdrop on your private conversation before you fled my apartment this morning, and despite me not understanding most of it, I definitely heard you mention someone, so could you just let me know if your gorgeous model ex girlfriend is pregnant with your perfect specimen baby?”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, you don’t even need us.”

Poppy rolls her eyes.  

She could text him. Could be casual about it, a good morning or even an are you okay? Those don’t warrant the alarm bells she’s afraid of raising - the ones that blare out with the siren sound of run, this girl is unhealthily attached to you already!

But she doesn’t want to be the pathetic girl chasing after the guy sending her clear messages that he doesn’t want her.

It’s easier said than done not to overthink the whole thing - not to second guess everything he had said, or everything she had done last night.

She feels like she had rushed things. It was so impulsive, so charged, and after spending the majority of her week away from him, she just hadn’t been able to help herself. And that makes her feel like a hypocrite. She had told him that night he had first kissed her that things between them had gotten intense. It had been the whole reason for spending a few days outside of each other’s company, and in the first possible instance, she had thrown herself at him.

It was desperate.

And maybe that scared him.

It sure as hell scares her.

“I don’t know what to do,” She groans, throwing her head into her hands and scrunching her eyes shut to try and drown out the endless doubt. 

She feels two hands rub at either sides of her back, “Listen, Pop,” Nia is the first to attempt to console her, as always, and Poppy holds her breath for the harsh reality check she’s about to throw her way. “You know I am the one person who would usually be trying to convince you to cut your losses and run when it comes to guys who are no good, but this is Nico. I’ve watched the two of you ignore your feelings for far too long to let you get in your own way, now.

“And you’re forgetting I saw him last night, before you got there, there isn’t a chance in Hell he would have left you like that without a good reason. I don’t for a second think he’s still hung up on her.” Nia casts a side eye to Kelsey.

The only problem is that Poppy isn’t sure there’s a reason good enough. Not when it comes to Talia. Not when the memory of those months of radio silence is still so fresh for her.

“I have to go to work in a building where his face is plastered everywhere, Ni, I can hardly forget his entire existence until he deems me worthy of an explanation. Who leaves after a night like that without even a note or a text?”

“An idiot,” Kelsey mutters around her drink, rolling her eyes when Nia sends her another death-glare.

“I’m not asking you to forget, I’m telling you to wait.” Nia frowns, but her tone remains consoling and warm. “You need to stop letting what this thinks,” she flicks at Poppy’s forehead, “Get in the way of what this knows.” She points to her chest on the left side. “You know him. You know how much he likes you.”

She does.

She knows Nico, she trusts him.

She can only judge him based on his actions so far - the ones that tell her that he cares. He leads with his heart, it’s his most attractive attribute. He’s gentle and loving and she needs to focus on those things over anything else.

“Ugh, corny,” Kelsey drags, and despite her repeated efforts to discourage her, Poppy knows she isn’t being entirely serious. “If he has any non-stupid hot athlete friends though, I’m first in line when the two of you kiss and make up for double dates.”

Guilt pricks slightly at Poppy’s chest - for making her recently single friend sit here and listen to her complain about something so monumentally small compared to the breakdown of the long-term relationship Kelsey had just endured. Even if it was perceivably toxic.

“You’d make such a good WAG, Kels.”

It’s a poor attempt to make up for it, but it seems to console her friend all the same, a giant grin breaking out and flashing her perfect pearly whites.

“I know.”

Poppy tries to distract herself with work. Tries to make her way through her inbox of seemingly never ending emails and her list of ever-growing tasks. She types up lengthy responses, puts together a presentation, makes a bunch of phone calls she’s been putting off for God knows how long, sorts all her invoices out - she even sends a fax. In the year 2024. It’s her most productive work day she thinks she’s ever had.

She zeroes in on the ground every time she moves through the building. Ignores the pictures that line the walls of the Rock, pushes down the memories of all the times she’s walked these very halls by Nico’s side, and she thinks she’s done just about enough to clear her mind for the time being.

She hasn’t thought up some heart wrenching scenario in at least an hour by the time she’s wrapping up for the day.

She’s making her way back to her office after dropping some files off for Elaine when she catches sight of a mop of curls over the top of the chair by her desk.

Luke is sat in her chair when she enters, swivelling around and staring at the ceiling.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick doing that, you know.”

“You’re such a mom,” he scoffs, standing up and clearly trying not to sway, “You ever tried having fun? I think I saw a glue stick on a table out there,” he points through the door into the wider office space, where there are a few, less private cubicles and a common area. “We should go sniff them, let loose a little.”

“Is that why you’re here on your day off? To huff glue?”

“Yeah, I don’t get to let loose enough. Being a rookie in the NHL is hard, Poppy,”

“Bummer for you.” She pouts, mockingly, swerving past him as he rounds her desk and sits on the other side, flicking at the bobblehead version of his older brother that stands by her computer. “If you’re chasing a high can you do it with one of the other departments, it’s not a good look for the Youth Foundation.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

When Luke had first joined the Devils, she hadn’t expected that she would warm to him the way she has - but, surprisingly enough, considering the fact they’re brothers, their relationship recently has started to mirror her and Jack’s.

Luke is funny. He’s sarcastic and a little silly, and it can be nice to have him around when work gets a little stressful. He doesn’t let the pressures of his own career outweigh those of hers, and, despite the gap in age, she actually enjoys his company.

But he never seeks her out like this.

Their interactions have always started through other people. Group conversations that dwindle to just the two of them, or he usually accompanies Jack to bug her and carries on when Jack’s ever-so-busy schedule takes him elsewhere.

She can’t think of another time he’s just shown up in her office alone.

Especially on his incredibly rare day off.

“Why are you actually here?” She asks, casting a suspicious but half-playful glare his way as she starts to pack up her things. 

“Came to see if you wanted to join us for dinner.”

“Aw Lukey,” she reaches over her desk to pinch his cheek, “I’m flattered and all but I’m a little too old for you.”

“Ha ha,” he swats her hand away, “Us. Me and Jack. Maybe a couple of the others if they’re free but you can pick where we go if you make a decision quickly, we were thinking a steakhouse.”

She narrows her eyes at him, expecting him to crack a joke about her being old, but he just looks back at her awaiting a response. “Why?” She drags out the question, her movements stopping completely.

“Maybe ‘cause humans need sustenance to live? What do you mean, why?”

“Why would you want me to tag along on your bro date?”

“Don’t call it a bro date,” Luke cringes, “Just remembered you were working today and we were in the area, don’t know why you’re being weird about it.”

“You’re being weird. You guys never let me choose where we eat. Don’t you remember that time we grabbed dinner when you guys drove me home and Jack told me to stop being a pussy about my seafood allergy ‘cause he wanted sushi.”

“Don’t blame me for the crimes of my brother, Poppy, he was obviously joking.”

“I had to eat tofu, Luke, I don’t find that very funny.”

“Are you coming or not?”

“That depends, how do you have your steak?”

“Well done.”

“Oh! Then absolutely not.”

“Remind me never to try to be nice to you again.” He scowls as they make their way out of her office, and she locks up behind the two of them.

“Gladly, it’s creeping me out.” She grabs at his elbow before he can carry on, stopping him in the otherwise empty common area where she knows no one is around to listen in. “Is something going on, seriously?”

Luke rolls his eyes, but she knows him well enough that it’s only done in an attempt to avert from her gaze. 

Bingo. He’s hiding something.

“I just thought you might want some company.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets and twisting his lips to keep from saying much more.

“Why?”

If Poppy wanted to spend her life getting a straight answer out of people for a living, she’d have become an interrogator. What is it with these guys and their inability to answer a simple question?

“Jack said you left the party last night with Nico.”

Poppy’s eyebrows scrunch so close together that she can feel a deep crease form between them. What on earth does that have to do with asking her to dinner? Or being overly nice to her?

Unless-

“You’ve seen him?”

“This morning.”

“Oh.”

All of her efforts from throughout the day seem to have been for nothing - an immediate rush of insecurities flooding her mind.

Where did he see him? What did he say? Was he okay? Was Talia there?

She feels like she can gauge an answer from the way Luke looks. Sheepish, almost, like he doesn’t want to say something he knows will hurt her feelings.

She had to have been with him. He wouldn’t just show up to her office like this if it wasn’t something that would seriously hurt.

She wishes she wasn’t the kind of person who did this - who filled in the gaps of conversations and always came out with the worst possible outcomes - but she can’t help it. She’s been doing it all her life, and there’s rarely ever an instance where her instincts have led her astray.

She knows it’s some weird part of her mind protecting her, but she needs to do something here. Nia’s words from earlier ring like a warning. Don’t let what her brain thinks get in the way of what her heart knows.

Her heart knows Nico wanted her. Knows Nico liked her. Knows Nico wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

She needs to figure things out for herself and stop running, stop letting her mind fill in the gaps of a situation it can’t even comprehend to begin with.

She reaches her arms around Luke’s shoulders, stretching up on her tip toes to pull him into a hug before rubbing her knuckles into his curls, affectionately.

Luke Hughes is sarcastic and silly, and he cares enough about her to not want her to be alone if she’s going through something.

“Thank you for the offer, Luke, but I’ll be alright.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods, a tender smile tugging at the corners of her stubborn lips. It takes over her face, eyes glinting fondly and cheeks warming. 

“Yeah, you can walk me to my car if you’re that worried about me though.” She loops her arm through his elbow as they make their way to the parking lot, and when they get there, he makes sure she’s in her car and has set off before him and Jack leave.

As if her day can’t get any worse, the elevator in her building is cordoned off with tape and a sign when she gets home, and she has never regretted moving up a floor as much as she does when she’s trudging up 6 flights of stairs.

She’s exhausted. Emotionally and physically, and she just wants to throw herself into bed and pretend the last 24 hours were a terrible dream.

Only, as she rounds the final corner to get to her door, any hopes of that go straight down the pan when her eyes land on Nico, standing in front of her door with his hands buried in his jacket pocket.

He looks tired too - hair messed where he’s no doubt been taking his cap on and off for however long he’s been stood here, running a hand through the tresses until they’re all askew. 

His shoulders are slumped, and he doesn’t even greet her with that pretty smile he usually gives her.

His lips do curve up a touch - limp and half-hearted, not even enough for a dimple to form - but it doesn’t provide the comfort she had thought it would.

She feels anxious. A culmination of the day’s emotions washing over in one go. Sad, regretful, nervous, disappointed - all things she shouldn’t be used to feeling when it comes to Nico, but are all too familiar when she takes the last few months into account.

“Hi.” She gives a weak smile of her own.

“Can we talk?”

She wishes he’d have just said hi, back. That might have relieved the tightness in her chest just a little.

Nothing good ever comes of can we talk?

He steps aside as she approaches, maintaining a safe distance as she opens the door and enters her apartment.

The Nico from yesterday might have brushed past her, the graze of an arm or a lingering hand, but this Nico doesn’t. He barely even meets her eye.

He closes the door behind himself, watching as she discards her bag and keys to the console table on the side, and while she’s turned away from him, she tries to let whatever emotions need to come out cross her features where he can’t see them.

She needs to be cool about this, she thinks.

If she doesn’t get her back up, doesn’t get agitated, she won’t scare him off.

“Are you okay?” She asks once she’s turned to face him, not liking how he stands unmoving by the door. He hasn’t made any effort to settle in - his jacket still on and his hands still hidden in the pockets.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

She realises now that she can get a good look at him that the expression he wears is one of shame. Guilt. Apprehension. She needs to be careful and toe the line before he gets consumed by it, she realises.

She steps toward him a little, and he doesn’t back up - not immediately, not obviously - but he hardly welcomes her approach, either.

She doesn’t like feeling this way when it comes to talking to him - feeling uneasy and unsure, but there’s a part of her that’s tired of having to prompt him for answers.

He had been the one to leave this morning. Why can’t he just come out and tell her why?

“I’m alright,” she shrugs, not wanting to scare him off with the truth. “Super tired, though, can we sit?”

She wonders if he thinks about the same things she does as they make their way to the couch. Wonders if he can feel the scratch of her nails on his torso, or the brush of her lips against his, as they sit in the spot where not even 24 hours ago, their bodies had been intertwined.

He doesn’t sit right beside her as he normally would, and she finds herself missing the way his thigh usually brushes against her own.

She doesn’t know where to start or what to ask, and so she basks in the silence for a little - finding comfort in the fact that, despite the mess they’re currently in, they aren’t quite at the end yet.

But a part of her feels it coming.

She’d known it this morning if she lets herself listen to the rational voice in her head. As soon as she’d heard him say her name, as soon as he’d left, a part of her knew that was it, and maybe if she’d let herself believe it at the time - hadn’t talked herself down and convinced herself she was being irrational - she could have protected herself from all the ways this is going to hurt.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and when she looks up, he’s looking down where his large hands are now clasped together in his lap.

“For what?” She manages to choke out.

“Last night, I,” she digs her nails into the palms of her own hands to stop herself filling in the gaps as he figures out what he wants to say, but it’s no use.

He’s sorry for last night.

Last night, he made a mistake.

Last night, he was drunk, he was confused, he was just looking for something or someone to keep him occupied.

“I care about you so much, Poppy.”

That sentence shouldn’t be the one that fills her with dread, but it is.

“You’re my best friend, and I love you,” he does look up as he says this, eye meeting hers in an attempt to convey his honesty, but she sees more of the truth in his glassy gaze than she hears in his words. “This morning, I panicked, and I just needed some time to figure out what I want.”

No, no, no.

She’d rather he tell her what actually happened than do this. Than pretend he left because he doesn’t want her.

“I love you-,”

“You said that, already.” She can’t help the bite in her tone as she prepares herself for the hit. The I love you, but.

“You’re so important to me. Being your friend, it’s like it’s what keeps me sane lately.”

She chews at the inside of her cheek as she feels the tears start to well at her lash line.

“Poppy, I don’t want to mess up what we have,” he shakes his head as his gaze drops, dark eyes darting to focus anywhere but on her own, pleading and watery as she watches him slip away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You don’t think this is hurting me?” She feels weak as her voice breaks, “You don’t think this is already messy?”

She reaches out to take his hands in hers, digging in to unclasp them, to try thread her fingers through, but he doesn’t make it easy.

“Nico, I love you, too, you know I do, we can figure it out, you don’t have to run away from me.”

It’s a desperate attempt and she knows it is, but she needs to know she tried. When she’s sobbing into her pillow and crying herself to sleep tonight, she needs to know she didn’t just let him go without a fight.

“I can’t give you what you want, I can’t be in a relationship, I’m no good at it.” 

Regardless of what she had told herself earlier, about taking what he says at face value, and trying not to fill in the gaps like she does so often with everyone else, she can’t help herself. When he says, I can’t be in a relationship, he means with her. He can’t be with Poppy. He would be no good with Poppy.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I told you-,”

“No, you said before that you’ve wanted this for as long as you’ve known me, you don’t just wake up and change your mind, not after-,” Poppy starts to feel panic building within her like a flipped over sand timer. Rising and rising until she starts to feel nauseous, getting harder with each second not to jump to conclusions. 

The voice inside her that tells her he got what he wanted and decided it wasn’t for him sounds caustic and bitter, and if she hadn’t wound herself up so much about this whole situation over the course of the day - the past week, even, or the months before - she might have been able to fight off the way it so easily convinces her.

“I have to put the team first, it doesn’t matter what I want, I have to focus on them, on hockey.”

She’s too caught up in her own emotions to notice how weak he sounds - glassy eyes unable to catch the glint in his. All she can hear, all she can see, is the minute hints of a cover-up - that she isn’t getting the whole story, that he’s lying to her, and that the excuse he’s giving is cowardly.

He still hasn’t mentioned the call, hasn’t mentioned Talia, hasn’t explained why he left her, why he didn’t say anything, why he didn’t come back.

“And you didn’t know that before?” She scoffs, pushing herself up off the couch and stepping away from him, “I can’t believe you would do this to me.” She wipes the tears from her cheeks as soon as they fall, but she can’t rid her skin of the feeling that they were there, her flesh damp and sore.

“I know we took things a little too far last night, but that doesn’t mean-,” She almost thinks he notices how bad that hurts her, referencing the night they shared as a mistake - an instance where they got carried away, and not where they followed through on years worth of built up tension and adoration for one another. She doesn’t even have to fill in the gaps, this time. Took things a little too far is clear enough. “We can still be friends. I want to be friends.”

“Friends?” Poppy jeers in disbelief, turning completely away from him now and missing the tears that drop from his own cheeks - missing the way his chest cracks and stretches open in a last ditch demonstration of his vulnerability, his desperation not to lose her completely. “You should go.”

“Poppy,”

“I can’t,” she tries so hard not to cry, knowing she won’t be able to stop, but the words come out in a choked sob, and her voice carries on in the whiney way she always hates. “You told me you wanted more, you said I was yours, and I’m supposed to just act like it never happened? Just accept you didn’t actually mean the things you said?”

“I meant them,” he says, defiantly, so sure of himself that it makes her head spin. “I wouldn’t-,”

“No, you didn’t. You’re a liar. You were either lying then, or you’re lying now. I don’t know which is worse. I can’t be your friend. I can’t pretend like you can that I don’t feel the way I feel.”

“Please, Mohn,” His fingertips just manage to reach out to land on her forearm before she shucks him off, wincing as if his touch has pained her.

“Don’t.” She takes an immediate step back, arms crossing over herself as a defence mechanism, body language screaming at him to go away, and she watches his pleading eyes drop to her arms just as she feels the cold of the metal there - so in tune with her every thought despite his denial of their true connection. Her arms move before her mind can make the decision, before it can remember what even sits on her skin, and her shaking fingers fumble to unclasp the jewellery adorned on her wrist. “You should take this back.”

Nico shakes his head, stepping back and away from the outstretched hand that holds her gemstone bracelet like it’s an actual danger to him. “No, that’s yours, Poppy.”

“I don’t want it.” She knows she’s the one that’s lying now. She wants the bracelet. She wants him. She doesn’t want him to leave. She wants to be his friend over being nothing. 

But she doesn’t want to hurt.

Looking at him hurts.

Remembering last night, remembering their kiss, the things he has said, the things he has done, it all hurts, and she can’t keep hold of a constant reminder of the pain, can’t wear it on her person at all hours of the day just to know deep down that the man who gave it to her will never want her the same way.

“I want you to leave.”

“Please,” he begs again, head tilting as devastation floods his features, brows pushing together, tears welling at the corners of his eyes, “We need to talk about this-,”

“No, you were right, we went too far, it was a mistake.” Her voice breaks as she says things she knows she doesn’t mean, but he’s already put it out there, so she doesn’t see the harm in echoing his own opinions. “There’s nothing more to talk about.”

She can’t look at him anymore, and so she drops her gaze to his hands, stepping and reaching forward and forcing him to take the bracelet from her before she rounds the couch and heads to the door.

If he isn’t going to give her the whole truth, she isn’t going to entertain part of the story, and she needs him gone so she can give in to the way her body wants to fold in on itself.

It takes him a minute to gather himself, but she refuses to look his way, waiting by the open door to her apartment and staring at the floor in front of her until his shoes appear.

“I do love you, Poppy. I’m leaving because I don’t want to upset you any more than I already have, and I’ll give you space if that’s what you need, but I’ll be here when you want to talk about this. I mean it when I say I can’t lose you.”

 She doesn’t say anything. She can’t say anything.

There’s a stabbing pain that’s building and building in the centre of her chest, and she doesn’t even think she can breathe in his presence.

He clasps a hand around her upper arm, and leans into her, his lips pressing a firm kiss into the crown of her head, and he lingers there for a moment before he retreats. 

She manages to push the door closed behind him, the click of the lock louder than ever, and waits a good few minutes in silence before her body is wracked with a silent sob.

The one time she had tried to be brave and fight her own intuition, and this is where it gets her.

So much for Nico wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

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)

[blurbfics]

There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part five]

Summary: Azriel and Eowyn begin their one-on-one training. A request is made.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: male/female sparring, blink-and-you-miss-it praise kink, slow-burn

Minors, do not interact

a/n: this scene was actually the first one I wrote and i've rewritten it so many times i don't even know what words are anymore. sorry its so short!

part four

"I held your hand until the light/ The scars were on the back

And all the time we were the right/ Was it just retract?

And they can try to put you down, wear you out/ Get you through the idea of the luck

Well, I thought you were the sweetest kill

Did we even know?"

Broken Social Scene, Sweetest Kill

She had to remind herself, for what felt like a million times that first day, that there was nothing to feel nervous about. It’s not that she felt uneasy or unsafe with the Shadowsinger. Quite the opposite. In the past few months that she’d been training with the rest of the Valkyries, she’d embraced the newfound strength and confidence that rose within her, both physically and mentally. Found out she actually enjoyed spending time with others, not only the priestesses, but also the High Lady on the semi-frequent occasions she visited the House of Wind, and of course, with the Illyrians as well.

Although she wouldn’t go so far as to call Cassian and Azriel her friends, there was more than professional respect shared amongst them. It wasn’t hard to break that wall of professionalism with Cassian, in fact he insisted on it lest he feel restricted or stilted by such a superfluous thing as polite manners, but Azriel… Azriel was entirely different.

To Cassian that is. Because every time Eowyn interacted with Azriel, she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense that she knew him, or rather, that he knew her. She didn’t know where the stupid idea came from. In fact, whenever it sprung back to the front of her mind when she was near him, she promptly banished it away at once, yet it always returned.

Thus, the fact that they spent the first training session in absolute silence other than Azriel’s given instructions and occasional corrections only made it that much more awkward. And irritating.

Eowyn wasn’t the most talkative fae by nature, much preferring to observe her surroundings than interact, but something about the silence between them irked her. It wasn’t so much that he wasn’t talking that bothered her, it was that there seemed to be so much left unspoken between them. Like they were both on the verge of an important revelation and neither of them had the balls to speak up first.

So two days later during their second session together, she gathered her wits and decided to get the job done herself.

The pair were currently sparring with long wooden staffs. The first few months of her training consisted of learning and getting used to the basics: breathing exercises, core strengthening, stamina building, with an emphasis on building the necessary strength and muscle to carry on the rest. Soon, she learned the basics of hand-to-hand combat, had moved on to sword fighting (with practice wooden swords, of course), and had even spent a few weeks learning archery. 

She was aware that sparring with her was like child’s play for Azriel. She had seen him truly spar with his brothers to know that he could kill her with a single hand, and one had to only glimpse at them— at the panting breaths puffing out at the veil covering her face, arms bare for once and glittering with sweat due to the day’s heat (on its last trenches of summer in its attempt to give them its all before it settled in for a seasonal retreat)— and him, face serious and focused on her movements and technique but otherwise untouched by both the sweltering weather and the exertion she felt and was sure to feel for days.

“May I-“ she interrupted herself with a hiss when the end of his staff hit her thigh, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to point out a lapse in her defense. She smacked it away with the end of hers, not bothering to get into position before attacking, hoping it would serve as a distraction to get a hit in. Clearly, her lousy attempt didn’t work, earning her another two whacks on either side of her arms for her lack of defense and centering herself before attacking.

The goal of their extra training lesson consisted of one thing, Azriel had told her, she just needed to get one hit in. If she got a hit in, they would be done for the day and would meet in two days time to try another technique in which she had the same goal.

Smug bastard knew it wouldn’t happen, thus, she had to remain for the remainder of the two hours they were set to train together.

“May I ask you a question?” she huffed, taking a step back to center herself. She angled her body only slightly to the side, making sure to keep her weight centered as she held her staff up in a defense position, knees bent slightly.

She awaited his response as she awaited his attack. He swung his staff at his side in a skillful swoop as he considered her for a moment. The response came first. “Within reason.”

In a flurry of movement, much too fast for her to comprehend, he had her both disarmed and on her ass. She scowled up at him even though he couldn’t see her face. Still, he snorted lightly in amusement, as if he knew just exactly what she’d called him in her mind, before extending a hand out for her.

“It’s about your shadows,” she confessed as she gripped his hand for him to yank her up. Didn’t even think about it when she did so, but when she touched his hand and felt the scars under her fingertips, scars she’d seen him hide away in shame, she couldn’t help the way her fingers lightly grazed them as he gently pulled away once she was on her feet. She felt him tense under her hand at her words, however, his lips pursing almost imperceptibly.

“Nothing invasive,” she promised immediately, unsure of how to tell him she didn’t mean to ask how he came to master his shadows. Didn’t want to inquire after something so intimate. “I'm just curious about them. If they’re sentient, if they’re their own magic or if they’re the same as the shadows there,” she gestured towards the stairs vaguely with her head, “if they’re different from my own shadow. If they have opinions…. If they share them with you” she looked down at the silhouette of her formed at her feet from the sun's light.

He considered her words, only angling his head in a gesture to continue. She picked up her staff and took her defense position once more, awaiting. 

“Yes and no,” he replied cryptically. She rolled her eyes behind her veil. When he didn’t elaborate and shifted to mirror her stance, she understood. Didn’t know how but she didn’t miss a beat at her queue.

Attack.

Though he was ready for it, she went to strike fast and hard, diagonally right to left, using her other hand to swing the staff around, advancing as she did to slice, hard, once, twice, three times, she swung low for his feet and used the momentary shift in movement to swing back up and strike forward and then swing.

He smoothly parried each swing, staff swiftly connecting with hers with a force that rattled her bones, meeting each strike and shifting out of the way as she tried to push him back. Not once did she manage to get even close to hit him and yet his eyes glinted with a satisfaction she had never seen before, especially not directed at her.

She and Azriel? Yeah, they weren’t close like that. So why was she feeling a strange kind of familiarity with him as if she knew him and he understood her?

Begone, she mentally hissed at the thought, parrying off his own quick attempt to sneak an attack and responding in kind.

“Good, Eowyn” he almost purred, and the shiver that ran down her spine at the praise and the way her name rolled off his tongue was so powerful she almost didn’t hear the words that followed. “They are sentient, and they are their own entity, but they’re also an extension of myself. They make sure their opinions are known to me,” he emphasized, his show of only the briefest instances of fondness for his shadows causing something in her to perk up at attention. Then his face contorted, “As for how they operate among the shadows…. How I travel through them, I… apologize. I’ve never been good at explaining them. Even my brother’s don’t fully understand…”

“I understand,” she nodded earnestly, before shaking her head, “I mean I don’t understand because I don’t have shadows obviously but I can empathize with the… feeling.” Her words lost their spark towards the end, the last word coming out stiltedly and rough.

If he thought her a fool, it didn’t show on his face. 

“Let’s go through that again, there were a few places you left your guard open.”

Once he’d had her repeat the exact movements she had done and had constructively criticized every aspect of them and had her do it twice more ‘but properly this time,’ he spoke up.

“You’re not from the Night Court, are you?”

She tilted her head slightly, considering pulling the same move he did, but then decided against it, too interested in where the conversation was leading.

“What makes you think that?”

“Your accent,” he replied immediately, “it’s good. Enough to convince anyone else, but I can hear it in the cadence of certain vowels, like when you said ‘ask.’”

The deftness with which he provided not only his argument, which was a certainty at this point, but also clear examples shouldn’t have sent her for a loop but it did. Only briefly.  Because he was the Spymaster of the Court of Nightmares, after all, and a notorious one at that.

“And where am I from?” She couldn't help but challenge. Suddenly it wasn’t the infamous Shadowsinger, often serving as the Night Court’s torturer and executioner, asking her questions, but rather it was her testing how much of the rumors and whispers that breezed in the wind were true about him. At that moment, eyes locked on his, even though he couldn’t see hers, standing before each other in paralleling fighting stances, she found him immeasurably fascinating.

She wanted to open his mind and inspect every thought, every secret, everything that made him him.

His jaw twitched, wings ruffling slightly. She grinned under the veil.

“You were the only one, out of all the priestesses, that didn’t bask in the sun when you came out here for the first time.”

Again, she wasn’t sure why she was surprised by how much he noticed. She had seen him almost as soon as she’d crossed the threshold leading up from the stairs that first time, but he had been talking with Cassian, facing away from her.

“I-“ he hesitated for once. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable-“

“You’re not.”

He startled slightly at the firmness of her tone but took it well, only nodding once before continuing.

“You joined us in early spring. By summer, almost everyone wore less layers due to the heat, but you didn’t… I mean, until recently,” he cleared his throat, and if Eowyn didn’t know any better she could’ve sworn the tip of his ears turned pink as he glanced down at her bare arms. “I can only assume it’s because you don’t like feeling the sun on your skin.”

Quite accurate.

“So… any guesses?”

She hadn’t noticed when they had stopped, her staff was still in her grasp but they now stood in front of each other, simply talking.

“Winter.”

She tilted her head, slightly disappointed but figured it was as good a guess as any. Her contempt for the sun– not something she was too vocal about– had less to do with the time of day or weather and more to do with the feel of the heat it emanated, a reminder of the pain she’d been forced to endure. “Dawn,” she corrected, glancing at the clock to see they had ten minutes left. Didn’t linger on the thought that crossed her mind, on how time flew by without her noticing.

“But you didn’t live there long.”

“Are you still guessing or do you already know everything?”

“I don’t-“ he shook his head, looking almost affronted, if the brief flash of emotion could be called that. “I haven’t looked into you, if that’s what you mean. No. I respect your privacy, and the privacy of everyone seeking safe haven in the library.”

“With the exception of a few, though, right?” She’d heard of how he’d saved Gwyn. Had heard the same story from several other priestesses who had gushed over the handsome shadowsinger over the years.

“Well yes, but only when I’ve been able to provide help, or when I get justice for them… with their permission and by request.”

“Right,” Eowyn nodded. She glanced at the clock again. Two minutes.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to answer me?”

She hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side, “what was the question again?”

“Dawn Court. How long were you there?” his eyes narrowed.

“Why don’t you… look into it?”

He stared at her blankly. 

She sighed. “You have my permission. In fact,” she swung the staff at her side in the exact perfect synchronized way he had done before when taunting her, “let’s call it a request.”

part six

taglist: @lilah-asteria , @a-courtof-azriel, @honk4emoboyz , @feyretopia , @mrsjna , @buttermilktea11 , @bravo-delta-eccho , @kylieinwonderland

[icallhimjoey]

Imagine this: Wesley makes a new friend and Joe is jealous of how close they are UNTIL he sees her for the first time. Suddenly, he can’t stop nagging Wesley about her.

ok so, i need everyone to understand that i do not know wesley or his mannerisms at all (obviously i do not know joe either, but we've established what my fictional joey's like) so i TRIED and it was AWKWARD for ALL SORT OF REASONS but i hope that you LIKE IT enjoy! (rewritten 16 nov 2023) Wordcount: 2.8K

Inevitable Sparks

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five The noise of a soft ringtone cut through the conversation and made Wesley stop talking mid-sentence.

"Sorry, I have to take this," Wesley said when he saw your name grace his phone screen.

Sat opposite him, Joe made a face.

"Um, you literally don't?" Joe jokingly frowned in frustrated confusion.

"Hey!" Wesley answered, far too chipper for Joe's liking. He hadn't been in the best mood. Conversation had been fine, but sort of serious. This different version of his best friend that he saved for someone else rubbed him wrong, just a little.

".... yea, I'm not doing anything, what's up?" Wesley turned away from Joe, his full attention with you now.

Joe flung up both arms and shook his head in bewilderment. Couldn't believe what he was hearing.

What did he mean, he wasn't doing anything?!

Going for lunch with his friend, hanging out at home, even taking him on trips around the globe - his best friend seemed to always be talking to his other friend.

This other person who seemed to be replacing Joe on that number one spot fairly quickly - too quickly, because you hadn't known each other long at all, Joe thought.

But anytime Joe would call Wesley, he either didn't answer, declined his call and sent him to voicemail, or he would answer but he'd say he wouldn't be able to talk long. Would ask for Joe to make it quick.

"You up for dinner tonight, mate?" "Sorry, I can't do tonight, I've already got plans," "Oh, is it with her again?"

The fact that he was out having lunch with him now almost felt miraculous.

It was silly. Everyone had friends that their other friends didn't know, didn't they?

But this was Joe's best friend. And he was his too. Wanted it to remain that way. Too many things were changing already, and keeping this the way it was, always had been, felt important. Grounding.

But then Wesley talked on the phone for over ten minutes and didn't even seem that bothered that it was incredibly rude to Joe.

After a lot of humming, yes-ing, and even some loud, loud laughs, Wesley hung up, turned back to Joe and pretended the call had never even happened.

"So, Tokyo, you said? How was that?" Wesley took another bite of his lunch, falling back into their previous conversation, leaving Joe to squint at him.

"Yea, no... Japan was amazing... what the- how do you even know her, again?"

Wesley looked up from his plate at his friend, for a second unsure who Joe was referencing.

Like Joe hadn't just listened to him talk to you for ages.

"Oh," the penny dropped. "Um, we went to school together, did a film- a thriller, together for a class, and then I ran into her randomly, what, two, three months ago?"

"Mmhm, school, huh?"

"She did awful storyboard drawings of a girl being punched once, and then we made her be the girl, and she accidentally got socked right in the eye! We didn't even use the footage," Wesley recounted a funny memory and chuckled lightly.

"Almost didn't recognise her without the bruised face, but she recognised me, so," he shrugged, took another bite.

"Oh, she did, yea?" Joe acted up his hatred in rivalry with you, and it tickled his friend, but he swiftly moved onto another topic and didn't mention you again.

Joe took Wesley with him to events for his job all the time. They seemed the perfect pair: the film maker (you know, the camera guy) and the actor.

Besides the hopeful networking Wesley maybe got to do, Joe was mostly happy to have a friend at these things; someone to ensure that he'd actually have fun and wouldn't just be a big ball of nerves throughout. Would say he was his PA if anyone asked. They never asked, it was always fine.

Sometimes, of course, there were moments when Wesley couldn't tag along, because of his own obligations.

Not a problem, there were plenty of other friends to ask to come to things with him.

It's just that... Wesley sometimes didn't have time for him because of you, and when he caught onto how annoyed Joe would get over it, he started mentioning your name loads. Just to fuck with him.

Like a couple of days later, hanging out at Wesley's place, spread out across the sofa, Joe and Wesley had the TV on in the background, but weren't really watching what was on.

"The absolute units of yachts they had over there," Joe scrolled through his phone gallery, looking for a picture to show his friend. "Just, ridiculous. No one needs a boat like that, really, do they?"

"You know who's got a yacht?" Wesley took a sip of his drink, eyes glued to his phone, before continuing, "Like, a sailing yacht?"

Joe turned his phone to show a picture he took in Newport Beach a couple weeks back.

Wesley peeled his eyes away from his own screen, looked at Joe's, and went, "Yea sort of like that one."

Joe tutted, immediately groaning, knowing Wesley was going to mention you again and it instantly made Wesley grin.

"Not her, she doesn't have a fucking yacht. Fuck, could you imagine? Someone our age with a massive sailing yacht?" Wesley said and let Joe visibly relax before continuing.

"Her dad does, though,"

"Okay," Joe slapped his knees as he got up from the sofa.

"At this point, is she even fucking real? What are you hiding from me?" Joe flung an arm about, slid his phone into his pocket and grabbed some shit from the coffee table he needed to throw out.

"I'm not hiding anything!" Wesley argued, but couldn't help laugh at his friend accusatory tone.

"So why haven't I met her yet?" Joe collected the empty beer bottles from the table too, and made his way to grab two new ones.

"You wouldn't- I just... I don't think you'd get along, you know? You're very different people," Wesley lied, not sounding as confident as he would've liked, and Joe poked right through it.

"What are you on about, mate? I get along with everyone!"

Wesley sat up and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, contemplating if what he was about to say next was the right move to make.

"People love me." Joe definitely didn't believe that in his gut, Wesley knew. But he also understood that... yea, people kind of always did really like Joe.

"Yea, exactly... maybe that's the problem,"

Joe turned around, jaw dropped, but eyes showing nothing but absolute cheek.

"Oh?" suddenly, Joe was intrigued, but Wesley was quick to hold up his hand.

"No!"

"What was her name again?" Joe whipped his phone from his pocket, ready to look you up anywhere he could think to. Not being on any social media himself didn't have to stop him from googling yours for a quick look.

Mentioning you had bit Wesley in the ass, and he sighed in annoyance, knowing from the start this is exactly what it would eventually lead to.

How could it not have?

It was absolutely inevitable.

Joe was single, you were single, and hot but approachable. And also friendly, sweet, kind, fun. All the good shit.

Wesley was drawn to the same type of people. The amount of times he'd been hanging out with you and had thought to himself, wow Joe could've said that, or, Joe would've done the same thing, had really started stacking up.

So when you had a couple of friends over on a random Friday night, for drinks and chats with music playing in the background, you had also invited Wesley to mingle with this new group of people he suddenly was a part of.

Half way through the night, Joe'd facetimed him and Wesley had decided to answer this time.

"Joe," Wesley said upon seeing his friend's face fill out his phone screen.

He saw Joe's face go from utter shock and surprise, because Wesley never fucking answered his FaceTime calls, straight into a frown as his face get closer in the camera. He was obviously trying to figure out Wesley's surroundings.

"Where are you?"

Wesley grinned and switched the camera around to show your living room, aiming his camera to see out the window and Joe could see three people out on a balcony, smoking, drinking, chatting and laughing.

"Is that-"

Before Joe could get a proper look, Wesley had turned the camera back onto himself, hiding a grin as he took a sip from his beer.

"Wait, turn it back a second, I thought I saw something," Joe said, sounding so very earnest, but it just made Wesley laugh because he knew Joe just wanted to check again, see if one of them had been you.

"Why are you calling?" Wesley tried to shift the focus away from you.

"Just checking to see what you were doing," Joe feigned being incredibly bored, speaking through a dramatic sigh.

Joe could see his friend look over his phone for a second as someone asked him something. Then Wesley's eyes scanned his phone, and Joe was shocked when his friend muted himself so he couldn't hear what was going on.

Muted.

Shut Joe right out by muting the audio.

He saw Wesley talk to someone off screen, then look at Joe when leaning to show someone who didn't step into the camera's vision enough for Joe to see.

It was obvious he was showing Joe's face to someone in the room. To the person he was talking to about something Joe wasn't allowed to hear.

Fucking muted.

What the fuck.

Then Wesley laughed, raised his eyebrows questioningly in that same direction and then nodded before turning back to his phone and unmuting himself.

"You want to come over?"

Wesley texted your address, and about half an hour later, you were stood out on the balcony when you heard the buzzer go inside. You knocked on the window and interrupted Wesley's conversation with one of your other friends, gestured for him to open the door.

You'd seen Joe walk up to the building and knew it was him who'd rang your doorbell.

You knew what Joe looked like, it was almost impossible not to in the year of our Lord, Eddie Munson, 2022.

But you also remembered meeting him once on a night out when you'd just turned 19 and you'd been out with a bunch of people from uni. Wesley had brought Joe along, and you only remembered that he'd been goofy. Sort of didn't really fit in with the group, but was funny enough for people to enjoy and appreciate his presence.

You didn't know if you had actually spoken then, but a swift plow through countless now hidden Facebook photo albums showed you weren't in any photos together.

A shame, you thought, because Joe was handsome.

And Wesley had been a little bitch for weeks about having the two of you meet.

It's not like you hadn't been pushing for it. A little.

"Are you gatekeeping Joe?" you had asked him, more as a joke, but you did wonder. Wesley talked about Joe all the time like they were joined at the hip, but you had yet to meet him.

"Absolutely." Wesley had thrown a bag of nuts into your shopping cart.

You snorted. You had expected him to deny your accusation, to come up with a million different excuses, but instead Wesley jokingly confessed and you couldn't help the giggle that escaped you.

"What possibly for?"

"Joe's.... he's sort of... I don't know, you won't like him, I think. Joe's weird," Wesley'd scrunched his nose to really convince you.

"Wouldn't that make you weird by default?" you'd laughed, referencing the fact that they'd been friends for years.

"No, it's like... like, I don't know. He's just weird. Joe likes wallabees, you know those shoes?" Wesley had raised his eyebrows at you, making a point.

"Oh, ew," you'd grimaced.

"See? He's a weird fucker. Best to steer clear of him." Wesley'd concluded, and you had agreed to put it to rest, but you couldn't lie.

You'd seen pictures of Joe on red carpets looking sharp.

In your opinion, he was allowed to be weird and like wallabees if he wore suits like the ones you'd seen him wear every other week, no problem.

When you saw Wesley walk him into your flat, the first thing you did was pan down to see what shoes he was wearing.

Sneakers.

Okay.

Good.

Sneakers were fine.

They didn't match his outfit, but, they were fine.

Wesley pointed at you, and you smiled and waved at him from outside. Joe did the same, small smile, small wave, and then you turned back to your friends, turning away from the window completely.

"Shit," you whispered, making two of your girlfriends turn to see who you had just waved at, and they chuckled when they saw Joe.

"Shit," Joe said softly under his breath upon seeing you, his hand still stuck up in his wave, even after you'd turned around and faced away from him.

"Okay, let's go," Wesley said, dragging his friend into the kitchen. "We've got to talk."

Whilst getting Joe a drink from the fridge, he sighed deeply.

"There's no way..." he started, handing Joe a beer bottle, but not letting go of it just yet. "You're obviously each other's type, so there's no way I'm going to be able to stop this," Wesley looked his friend in the eye sternly.

Joe was just about to object, but Wesley was quick to speak over him.

"But if you fuck this up," his grip on the bottle strengthened. "She won't want to be my friend anymore, and then I won't want to be yours." Wesley warned, finally letting go of Joe's drink.

"Mate, nothing's gonna happen," Joe reassured, obviously lying to himself and to his best friend, planting a heavy hand on his shoulder and making Wesley scoff loudly.

Who was Joe trying to fool here?

"All right, well, we'll see about that,"

"Hi!" you stepped into the kitchen, and very obviously walked in on them talking about you. Both heads turned towards you and you were met with four big, bulging eyes and silence. You stared at them for a second, eyes going from one to the other, until you cleared your throat loudly.

"Hi," Joe snapped out of it and smiled his warmest of smiles before reaching out a hand and bowing his head down slightly as he shook yours.

Sparks.

You smiled back and silently told yourself you'd been right all along.

Joe really was handsome.

And cute?

How could you describe him... handsomely cute?

Pretty.

Joe was pretty.

Yes, pretty felt right.

Wesley formally introduced you to each other, but you couldn't even hear what he was saying.

Inside your head you heard classical music playing- a full orchestra, loud with violins and flutes and harps. Several harps, very romantic.

You held onto each other hands for far too long for it to be normal, and Wesley's eyes darted back and forth between the two of you.

"That's um... that's a lot of prolonged eye-contact, guys," Wesley spoke, his voice slightly hesitant, like he knew he was intruding.

"Yea," you sighed, still not breaking eye contact.

"Yea," Joe agreed and his smile grew wider, almost impossibly so.

"Greaaat... yea, this isn't making me uncomfortable at all," Wesley sarcastically elongated his words.

"Yep. yep. Great, this is just great. Well, I trust you guys will let me know if you need anything," Wesley's voice sounded uncomfortably constricted as he took awkwardly big steps to tiptoe around you as he stepped out of the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone.

"I've um... I've heard a lot about you," you said, finally snapping out of it.

"I've heard a lot about you too," Joe replied before taking a swig from his beer.

From outside on the balcony, Wesley and your two girlfriends watched as you and Joe chatted, exchanging pleasantries with flushed faces, pursed smiled, and probably painful cheeks from suppressing your grins so much.

It was an adorable sight to behold, and it made Wesley chuckle a little.

"I am either going to have to write two best-man-speeches for their wedding, or I'm going to be the deciding factor in who gets the dog when they break up," Wesley said, making your friends laugh as he shook his head.

He wasn't joking though, and inhaled a sharp breath before taking a sip from his drink.

There was no other choice for him but to stand back and watch this unfold.

We'll see how this pans out, he thought.

We'll see.

-----

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @dirtyeddietini @mybffjoe @harrys-tittie @chaoticgood-munson @harringtonfan4 @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @xeddiesbattattsx @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @thefemininemystiquee @hauntingbastille @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland - add yourself

[genderqueerpositivity]

The competing thoughts in my head right now:

1) Imagine what sort of cases are going to make it before SCOTUS to decide by June of next year. Settled law means fuck all at this point. There is no limit to what they might do next, and conservatives are going to be even more eager to get cases that could go in their favor before the court.

They didn't stop at Roe, they won't stop at ending affirmative action, and they won't stop at legalizing anti-queer discrimination. I'm betting my money right now, that by this time next year, at least one of the legal challenges currently being fought against trans healthcare will reach SCOTUS.

2) Less than 7 years ago, one of the most potentially qualified women in American history lost the presidency in spite of having won the popular vote to a man who is easily the least qualified crook to have ever held the office in American history.

Just imagine if we were living in a different timeline where President Hillary Clinton had used her power to appoint three liberal (or at the very least, moderate) Supreme Court Justices. The entire trajectory of this country would currently be different. Abortion rights, affirmative action, and LGBTQ+ rights would've been safe for another generation. But her emails. Elections have consequences. And our electoral system is flawed.

3) The Constitution needs to either be rewritten or drastically amended; the major problem with this is that our current leadership cannot be trusted to do so. It's extremely clear that "we the people" still only means white Christian men.

I'm not actually certain that the United States should exist as a single country anymore...I just find it hard to imagine any alternative. This country truly feels like 50 individual countries badly pretending to be 1...but no longer having even the minimal protections provided by the Constitution would be a nightmare for minorites in red states. And a lot of people would be trapped by that, just as they already are: unable to leave due to finances or disability, or unwilling to leave their family, culture, or history behind.

Either way, abolish the electoral college, and implement term limits for SCOTUS Justices, and I think that the length of no more than 16 years or four presidential terms (as most presidents serve two four year terms) is adequate.

4) This means resistance. And I'm trying to figure out what that looks like. I've mostly been doing this by looking at the past and seeing how my queer and trans predecessors fought back, because none of this shit is new. But this also calls for the question: what else can we do? Are there new ways that we can resist? How do we build a future in a world that looks more like the past everyday?

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 , 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 & 𝐢

( IT IS EASIER TO TELL A STORY OF HOW PEOPLE WOUND ONE ANOTHER THAN OF WHAT BINDS THEM TOGETHER. )

chara : nanami kento fandom : jujutsu kaisen quote cr : anne carson, lights a/n : posted the original fic 2 years ago ! revised + rewritten.

one. love is not always as kind as the world makes it out to be. to be in love, perhaps, can be such a wondrous thing : to give it, a blessing ; to reciprocate it, a miracle.

but it is not always that easy, not always that simple. in the rhythms of love, there are sharp edges, jagged and wretched and lined with a cruelty and you won't know it until you're bleeding with some kind of heartache.

you learn this the hard way.

you are in love with nanami kento, and he is in love with you. that, perhaps, is one of the most heartbreaking things you have ever come to realize.

( QUESTION : how can i undo this? HOW CAN I FORGET? ANSWER : —————————————————————— )

two. nanami kento does not know how he will die, but he imagines it will be gruesome. to know peace in one's ending is not something he will be granted, but he accepts this with a light heart. he dwells on his life and everything he has known : all the grievances, this dull ache of survival, and a fleeting happiness. he dwells on his funeral, wonders if they will find him, the ache in his chest void, the blood in his veins splattered on unholy grounds ( likely not, he muses, and he cannot figure out if that would be for the best ).

all living things die. that is simply how the cycle works. who is he to decide otherwise?

it is different in a world of curses and sorcerers. acknowledging that you could walk into the hands of death at any moment, departing for missions in which there is no guarantee that you will return to the person or place you know as home-- it is too cruel. unjust, in a way.

he loves you. he loves you, but he cannot.

in days unknown, there will be a time where one of you will not come back. there will be a day where one of you will lay flowers at the other's grave-- the question is simply who will be the one to do so.

he loves you. he loves you, so he will rid of this affection, ignore the remnants of tenderness in a dying heart, and move on. he will not hurt you like that. he cannot bring himself to, and so he will deny himself this bit of humanity.

three. you walk under the cherry blossoms. the sky is pink, hazy, and it is beautiful. it almost makes you laugh-- what a cliche situation this is, to walk side by side with the person you love, the gentle breeze carrying the petals across the ends of the earth.

"do you ever wonder if you've made the right choice, coming back to us?"

you look down at your footsteps, observe the path you take. it goes on endlessly, and it is frightening and exhilarating and right and wrong, but there is no infinity in it. it'll end, somehow, this temporary comfort between you and him, and it will all go back to before : a reluctance in the presence of another and the pondering of what could be.

he stares at you, maintains his composure as he always does. but there is something inside of him that unravels too quickly, and it is with desperation that he keeps a quiet suffering.

the sight of you, peaceful, happy, is all he needs. he will remind himself of this moment in the near future, and perhaps once more in his last moments, because this is the only way he can seek closure in what he knows to be as a necessary hurt.

he inhales, deep, takes in the scent of the cherry blossoms. exhale.

he smiles. there is something inside him that continues to break, but that's okay.

"i've made the right choice."

four. the thought of love, idealized in all its glory, makes you nostalgic. makes you dwell, daydream, and desire for something more. you know it's stupid-- you do, but even you are human. you should remind yourself of that more often.

you study the paintings on the wall. you hate them. always have. you wonder if satoru chose them out himself because god, they're so hideous that you're certain that he was just trying to piss off the headmaster.

there's a loud yawn that shifts your attention elsewhere, gaze focusing on a certain someone : the chosen one, he declares, and you almost laugh every time he deems the title as his. he sits on the couch near you, slouches so much that it's almost as if he could just melt off the furniture.

"satoru," you begin, and your voice is quiet-- distant, almost, "what do you think the most beautiful thing in life is?"

he pauses, scratches his head. rarely do you address him as such, but it's not the most surprising thing in the world -- but maybe it's the way you sound so defeated, so worn out, that it makes him feel that slightest bit of unease and worry for someone he cares for. you feel so far away from him right now, even though you're only a few feet away.

it is a familiar feeling. one he remembers deeply. one he does not like.

but he hums obnoxiously, forces his thoughts away from a past unforgiving.

"me."

"shut up, you fucking idiot."

he grins, takes off his sunglasses.

"why? daydreaming again?"

you don't like to look at his eyes. they're too bright, see too much. you focus on the dreary paintings again, choosing your words carefully.

"hoping." you begin. "i'm hoping." a simple answer. a foolish one, at that. you force a smile. "kind of stupid, right? hope doesn't do much in this kind of world."

you can feel his gaze on you-- heavy. knowing. you meet his eyes, swallow hard. you wish he'd cover them again, because you're not used to this -- the lack of amusement, the lack of pity, but instead, a strange kind of thoughtfulness. you're not sure how to interpret it. best to not.

"nanami is stubborn," he says, adjusting his posture as he sits up a little straighter, "but so are you."

your gaze flickers back to the paintings. there's a lump in your throat now. it hurts, almost-- threatens to render you speechless.

"satoru." you don't know what you're saying anymore. you are desperate to seek answers to something you already know. "is the hurt worth it?"

a pause. a brief silence, ongoing.

"don't you know the answer to that already?"

your eyes sting. the paintings blur just the slightest bit. something aches.

( can't you just tell me, you almost want to beg, your silly little stupid pride on the line, whether i should take the fall or not? )

he puts his sunglasses back on, and though you can no longer see the blue, you know there is a deep sorrow somewhere in the waves.

you wonder if he's still looking at you.

five. neither of you are brave enough to jump. it's for the better. ( it is, it really is, you will reason with yourself, it's better this way. )

"i can do it." nanami says. there's dried blood on his face, cuts and bruises everywhere in sight. it's not all of his blood, but somehow, there's little comfort to be found in the fact.

"yes, i know." you agree without a single hesitation. "but give me this, would you?"

so he does. he leans against the countertop, obedient, watches you sort through the first aid kit like it's second nature ( and at this point, given the first years and their track record, surely it must be ). you gingerly wipe the red that stains his cheek, note the way his jaw clenches in response.

"it hurts."

you smile, bittersweet. your heart twists into a brutal, blinding pain, but you force it anyway, even though you know it's far from convincing. he doesn't mention it. he just looks at you, unwavering, but there's something unrecognizable in his eyes-- something you want to see, but something you want to remain oblivious to. your eyes are stinging again. you bring yourself to break a silence that is heavier than anything you have ever held.

"i'm sorry."

your voice cracks, and his name lingers on the tip of your tongue, sweet and shy, never falling from your lips.

it is almost instinctively that he desires to place his hand over yours, lean into your gentle touch, and remember this fragile feeling forevermore. but to give in is a weakness, and this weakness can only lead to tragedy. there is already enough of that in this life, he thinks ; you cannot carry anymore.

so he swallows the hurt, swallows the suffering. he fights the need to touch you, to feel your presence, understand everything that you are and could be to him. instead, his fingers grasp the bathroom counter so tightly that he feels he could shatter the granite to pieces.

this is the right choice. this is the right choice. this is the right choice. it has to be.

inhale. exhale. there is a gentle curve of the lips, and words that taste like poison, heavy with regret and a longing profound.

"i am sorry, too."

[ez-with-a-fez]

Okay y'all look. I didn't hate season 4. In fact, I really really liked it (if any season was the worst, it was season 3). I liked the interactions. I liked the plot. And I'm the kind of person who can ignore potholes and annoying things in a piece of media I really enjoy. For me, the Lila and Five plotline made a lot of sense. Some say it was out of character for Five to want to stay and not help his family or whatever, but like, it's kinda not? Maybe at the beginning of the series, but last season he seemed not to care as much. He wanted to retire. Wanted so hard to believe that it was all good so he could get on with his life, not be tethered to the whole "I must save them" thought process. But staying with a girl he really likes in a place of peace and calm sounds pretty much like the perfect ending for a sixty-something year old time travelled. But anyway, I've always been a Lila and Diego shipper, don't get me wrong. But to me, Five and Lila have got a connection. A familiarity that comes through being the only ones who really understand the craziness of the commission. They're both good at keeping up with each other, mentally and physically. And they definitely have similar personalities and drive. The only thing I wish was different was that it happened earlier. There's a couple reasons. I, personally, wanted to see more of their close interactions. I liked how they did the relationship cause it didn't feel as rushed, I suppose. The montage of them growing closer in a situation that it made SENSE for them to grow closer worked a lot better than just them going around for a couple hours and something happening suddenly. But I still think there's more I want to see. But the biggest reason is that there wasn't really a resolution. They all DIED with Diego still hating Five. They never got a yes or no to "do you love him?" And they never really got to talk about what it meant for them because they got interrupted by another end of the world. It kinda sucked. These close knit individuals. This family that has literally seen the end of the world like, four times, ends on a sour note. And now they're gone. Forever. Forgotten. Their old lives literally rewritten out of history. There's no fixing those relationships. No healing as people. I just think that if it had started two or three episodes earlier, or, hell, even an episode earlier, there would be more time to... I don't know. At least end in a way that might help with the fandom's anger. Most people are mad at Five and Lila's betrayal. At the out of character-ness of some of their actions. I think giving them time to heal would help that. Even having them in the circle and having Diego and Five realize they're dying and don't want to go out mad at each other and have a quick talk/yell with each other, y'know? Idk. I could be crazy. But I just think it would be less of a punch to the gut that way.

[koritea]

if you've already elaborated on it i definitely missed it but what's the general premise of COTS if you have the time/energy to elaborate >:0

Oh man [gripping the table to maintain my sanity] you have no idea how much this ask means to me I am SO MENTALLY ILL ABOUT THIS STORY LMAO

I've wanted to write a book since I was like. 10. And I've rewritten this particular story so many times it has zero resemblance to the original plot. WEEPS.

Putting this under the cut cause it got long LOL

Okay so firstly, there's the A-side and the B-side. Most of what I post here is B-side content (Icarus, Atticus, Empress, etc.), but the A-side is the main cast/storyline the books will follow.

To give a rough outline - the gist of it, if you will:

Our main character, Aria (some modern century twenty-something D&D nerd) gets thrown into another world via a magic door.

The story follows the same sort of cadence as a D&D campaign (you meet someone in town willing to give you information, something bad happens in the town that forces you to fight or flee, you want to help these people so you wind up biting off more than you can chew, etc.) but very quickly there's some weird stuff that comes up that isn't typical of your average campaign, and Aria gets pulled further into shenanigans with time gods, dragons, undead kingdoms and a familiar face turned catalyst.

She gets turned into a cat at one point :)

There's dimension hopping and timeloops and fucked up horror and maybe a sprinkle of murder and resurrection and betrayal and falling in love and consequences and I havE LORE FOR A STUPID PATCH OF GRASS I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING

B-side is mostly here because I can't not give all my character deep and meaningful lore. Wdym the bg character shouldn't have a 24k word document about his mother's necklace. What.

Icarus my favoritest boy my baby my big silly stupid flew too close to the sun and the sun said I love you and sacrificed itself to save him and the consequences nearly collapsed the universe and the gods had to piece together bits and parts of themselves to fill the gap but it's still not enough and the time god is so fucking tired of resetting the world to buy them time (hah) but it's all it can do because it loves so deeply and is not built to express it and it's tearing itself apart and and and-

Icarus is sort of the "main" character of B-side, but it's more like a collection of background stories of characters rarely/only hinted at in A-side, but they still effect the worlds enough to be important.

Empress has a whole arc at spans twice as long as Atticus's does.

Oh yeah and there's different pantheons and some things like gravity and time get wonky and there's the War of the Stars and the day the magic stopped and there's the inexplicable lack of something that no one remembers and there's this weird ass sphynx that pops up every now and then.

And I'm definitely rambling but you are MORE than welcome to ask questions. I am. Insane about this project. Maybe. Just a little. I might have four animatics sketched out and a dozen more in my head.

I have song playlists too!!

[jordaninthevalley]

Mushroom Cave vs Fruit Bat Cave

I've rewritten this post like four seperate times to the point i thought I had already posted it BUT I have not! Lucky ducky me!

I have been curious about which cave is technically better, especially since I see a lot of people are deadset on it being the fruit bat cave when I am a mushroom cave defender, so I am going to compare the two here!

What is the cave that you normally pick when you start a new save?

Divider Credit

Mushroom Cave

Pros:

Six boxes + A dehydrator

Spawns mushrooms even if theyre out of season

Spawns Common Mushroom, Red Mushroom, Purple Mushroom, Chanterelle and Morel

Helpful for Fall Foraging Bundle, Dye Bundle, Exotic Foraging Bundle, and Field Research Bundle

Helpful for crafting Life Elixir and Fall Seeds (and in turn, tea saplings)

Helpful for cooking Fried Mushroom, Tom Kha Soup, and Stir Fry

Purple Mushroom is a loved gift for the Wizard

Can make dehydrated mushrooms

Isn't obsolete after growing fruit trees

For sure produces every other day

You can customize your cave without risk of it

Helpful for three quests, all three reoccuring

Helpful for 9 unique fishpond quests, 11 total, which are as follows:

Common Mushroom: 2-3 from Bullhead, Largemouth Bass, Midnight Carp or Woodskip

Red Mushroom: 2-3 from Catfish, Spookfish or Woodskip

Purple Mushroom: 2-3 from Catfish, Rainbow Trout, Spook Fish, or Super Cucumber

Cons:

Mushrooms are always normal quality, even with Botanist Profession

Harvesting Mushrooms doesn't award any foraging XP

Other Areas Mushrooms Can Spawn:

Common Mushroom: Fall Season, Fall Seeds, Secret Woods in Spring and Fall, and Tapping a Mushroom Tree

Red Mushroom: The Mines, Secret Woods in Summer and Fall, and Tapping a Mushroom Tree

Purple Mushroom: The Mines, Tapping a Mushroom Tree in Summar and Fall

Chanterelle: Secret Woods in Fall

Morel: Secret Woods in Spring

Total Number of Pros: 16 Total Number of Cons: 2 Difference: 14 points

Fruit Bat Cave

Pros:

Can spawn up to 50 fruit.

Spawns fruit even if they're out of season

Spawns Cherrys, Pomegranate, Peach, Apple, Orange, Spice Berry, Apricot, Wild Plum, Blackberry, and Salmonberry

Helpful for Artisan Bundle, Enchanter's Bundle, Fodder Bundle, Summer Foraging Bundle, and Fall Foraging Bundle

Helpful for crafting Summer Seeds and Fall Seeds

Helpful for cooking Cranberry Candy, Fruit Salad, Plum Pudding and Blackberry Cobbler

Provides Loved Gifts for Elliott (Pomegranate), Robin (Peach), and Gus (Orange)

Can make wine, jelly, and dried fruits

Fruit can be of any quality

You benefit from the botanist profession and the gatherer profession

You earn foraging XP

Helpful for 4 quests (3 reocurring)

Cons:

Cannot customize cave as that reduces the amount of tiles where the fruit can spawn, even if it is crafted flooring.

After growing fruit trees it becomes, essentially, obsolete. Especially with the green house.

Not collecting fruit reduces the amount of fruit that can spawn overnight. For example if you have no fruit there is a 48% chance of NO new fruit spawning, but if you have ten fruit in it that chance raises to 54%

Not used in any fish pond quests

No guarentee that fruit will spawn overnight.

Other Areas Fruit Can Spawn:

Cherry: Cherry Tree in Spring (year round in greenhouse)

Apricot: Apricot Tree in Spring (year round in greenhouse)

Peach: Peach Tree in Summer (year round in greenhouse)

Orange: Orange Tree in Summer (year round in greenhouse)

Pomegranate: Pomegranate Tree in Fall (year round in greenhouse)

Apple: Apple Tree in Fall (year round in greenhouse)

Salmonberry: Bushes throughout the valley on days 15-18 in Spring.

Blackberry: Bushes throughout the valley on days 8-11 in Fall, Fall Seeds (growin in fall or year round if planted in Greenhouse)

Spice Berry: Foraging in Summer, Summer Seeds (grown in summer or year round if planted in Greenhouse)

Wild Plum: Foraging in Fall, Fall Seeds (grown in fall or year round if planted in Greenhouse)

Total Number of Pros: 12 Total Number of Cons: 5 Difference: 7 points

[practically-an-x-man]

💛 reunion kiss/relief for Prometheus and Corinthian? 👉👈 please?

Ooooh thank you!! I love them so much <3

Now I know the scene you want me to write for this... but I'm saving that for Ruin, so here's a backup

💛 reunion kiss / relief

____

Thirty-four days.

That was how long, by their count, he'd been missing.

This sort of disappearance would have been common in the early days. All that business with Jed Walker, everything he tried to set in motion up in the Waking, and they'd learned to go weeks or even months without so much as a glimpse of him.

But not anymore. Not since they'd built a home here, this little house at the edge of the Dreaming. Not since he had something to lose.

Thirty-four days. Even if he had to leave for so long, why hadn't he told them? Warned them? Said goodbye? They were comfortable together. Prometheus was not afraid of his darker sides - there were times when they welcomed it, even. There were very few secrets kept between them.

This worried them.

Prometheus sat by the fireplace, staring at the door. Despite the blazing fire at their side, they held their torch clasped tightly between their hands. It comforted them, in some small way. It would've been more comforting to have him here.

"He'll come back." Mary Hospitality said, appearing over their shoulder so suddenly it almost made them jump. She was a young girl now, at least for the moment, brown hair hanging almost to the waistband of her embroidered skirt.

"I hope so."

"He will." she insisted, in that airy and unflappable way of hers. She was so... unburdened, always was, and it nearly made them jealous. If only they could be so hopeful.

She vanished just a moment later, dissolving into the woodwork with nothing but a twirl of her skirt. Prometheus continued to wait.

The first week had not worried them too terribly. It was a longer gap than usual, yes, but the Corinthian was more than capable of handling himself. And it wasn't as if a week made much difference against the expanse of eternity that stretched before them. Dreams were timeless.

But a week had stretched into two, three, four, and their neutrality had shifted into dread. A silence like this, a gap without warning, for over a month...

Their mind turned to Morpheus. If the lord of the Dreaming had found him, rewritten him... Prometheus could wait here forever. They could sit by the fire until the whole world fell away.

There would come a point when they'd have to decide. Where they couldn't wait any longer for him.

But that point had not yet come.

The door before them swung open. Prometheus jumped to their feet, spear in hand with hardly more than a thought. The blade glinted in the blazing firelight all around them.

"Prometheus? Sweetheart?" An all-too-familiar voice greeted them, smooth steps sauntering into the room, "Hey, sorry it took me so long, I-"

He coughed as they all but crashed into him, spear and torch forgotten. The Corinthian's arms fell around them without even a moment of hesitation, one hand around their back while the other softly stroked their hair. Prometheus let out a shuddering breath, memorizing the warmth of him against their body.

"Somebody missed me, huh?" he drawled, with that old insufferable arrogance of his. It fell after a moment, and his arms tightened around them. "Sorry, honey. I shoulda told you. Something came up- I'll explain later."

They nodded against his chest, hardly able to express their relief.

"I thought he-"

"Never saw him. I've got reason to be careful, y'know. Got someone to come home to," he said, ducking his head to kiss their hair.

Prometheus finally managed to gather themself, and drew back enough to reach up and push the Corinthian's sunglasses up onto his forehead. They wanted to see his eyes.

He offered them just a glimpse, just one unimpeded moment before he moved once again. His hands cupped their face, holding them like they were something unbelievably valuable, and drew them into a long, passionate kiss. It was thirty-four days of separation, it was the fear that he'd been lost and the relief of being back in his arms, it was two former nightmares with dreams of their own.

It was knowing, from the deepest sands that made up their souls, that they'd found something worth keeping.

[ljandersen]

whats ur status on sideways 👀? No joke i think abt it daily.

Thank you for reaching out, Anon! It means a lot to me, knowing that a story I wrote is thought about every day. I think about it every day, too, being the author! It's still the story I'm proudest to have written.

As for the status on Sideways, it currently exists as a hand-written, rough first draft stored in a fire-proof safe. It needs massive changes -- complete scene rewrites and a ton of new scenes (mostly for the paragon timeline). It's currently on my back burner while I focus on an original project.

All the adjustments I made editing the 750k words in Part 1-4 has culminated in a major undertaking editing Part 5.

For instance, the reason Shepard joins the Alliance on Rannoch is different after my changes in Part 4. Before, I didn't have a very good reason for her being there and, because of that peripheral role, she wasn't directly involved in a lot of the things happening. Now she's acting Counselor. She's front and center.

It's a good change, the right change, which is why I did it. However, now a lot of the plot-centric happenings, which were only heard about or referenced through another character, need full scenes with Shepard being impactful and altering the outcomes (much better than being a removed observer).

This will require several new scenes and throwing out old ones that are now unnecessary. Then I need to relocate any extra bits of vital information not in the new scene, to other places in the story.

In addition to whole new scenes, I need to majorily revise whole scenes. There's a party scene on Rannoch, which now the goal behind it and what Shepard is doing during it, has changed. That series of scenes need rewritten.

That example of Shep's purpose on Rannoch changing scenes downstream is just one -- and a mostly spoiler free one -- of the dozens of changes I need to accomodate.

Also, the paragon timeline in particular requires a lot of new writing, maybe 50 k words of new scenes (so, the equivalent of a full novel).

Toward the end of writing the first draft of Sideways, I was starting to get worn down. Writing four storylines sometimes made it feel like I was spending weeks going nowhere, because I wasn't moving forward in the main Renegade timeline. Because of that frustration and wanting to reach the end, I chose to focus less on the paragon timeline, knowing I would need to add more to it during the editing. I left myself with some major work to do on that storyline to do it justice.

All of those reasons aside, the main reason Sideways Part 5 isn't ready is because I shifted focus for the time being. I'm serializing an original sci fi series and trying to establish myself an author. I intended to do this after I finished posting Sideways, but with the emergence of AI, I don't think the opportunity will be there for me if I wait.

Visibility for writing is going to become impossible and slow human writers, like me, will be washed away under the tide of AI mega production. There's an influential author in the indie world, for example, who has stated his intention to produce 10k novels a year, on par with the big publishing houses. That's one person, who with a handful of contractors previously put out a few dozen books a year, if that many, who now intends to do 10k a year!

My opportunity to find readers is now, while AI is still clunky and not universal, before people selling a back catalog of 100k books and with the ad spending to match drive human writers out of the market.

Because of this new priority, I've had to funnel my creativity and focus into my original writing. I'm not someone who can do two things at once. I'm all in on one project at a time. That's probably apparent from my fanfic, where I've only posted one WIP at a time, start to finish before the next. I can't divide my passion on concurrent WIP.

That doesn't mean I don't think about Sideways though -- I do, daily! -- and I intend to finish it. For now, though, unfortunately, Sideways is a draft in some notebooks in a safe. It's not a simple undertaking to edit it, and I need to focus on a personal goal.

Your interest in Sideways is something I treasure, though, and appreciate beyond words. I'm so glad my story isn't forgotten. I love knowing it's still on readers' minds. It makes me feel like, what had so much meaning to me as its writer, truly must carry that meaning through to the reader, too, which is the greatest joy in sharing a story.

Thank you for taking time to check in on Sideways and for letting me know how much it still means to you.

Also, here is a picture of my new puppy as a tiny consolation for not having Sideways ready:

[justapanda]

Rewriting Jujutsu Kaisen Chapter 236

Needless to say, chapter 236 has sparked a lot of criticism. So, to keep a long story short, I've rewritten chapter 236 to try minimise some of the common issues people have with the chapter, issues that I also personally share.

I've kept a lot of the dialogue the same, but I've added some major tweaks that I believe would drastically improve the execution of this chapter. So if you're one of the ones who are disappointed with chapter 236, I hope you also find this rewrite to be an improvement.

Jujutsu Kaisen Chapter 236: Go South

-- Page one --

[Narration text: Gojo stands victorious?!]

Gojo: Well, it's time to get this over with, any last words?

Sukuna faces Gojo with a serious demeanour, struggling to stand upright.

Sukuna: Hmph.

Sukuna: Just one.

Sukuna aims his only remaining arm directly towards Gojo, gesturing his hand in the shape of a knife.

Sukuna: Dismantle.

Gojo smiles arrogantly as Sukuna, in an act of desperation, resorts to using to his default technique in an attempt to harm him.

However, as Sukuna releases his attack, Gojo's smile immediately vanishes, now replaced by a bewildered expression.

-- Page two --

The scene transitions to Gojo's imagination, where a younger Gojo is seen sitting at an airport, wearing the same bewildered expression.

Geto: Yo, Satoru.

Gojo: Blegh!

Gojo: You're kidding me. This sucks.

Gojo sulks, leaning back on an airport chair.

Geto: Pretty rude thing to say after seeing someone's face.

-- Page three --

Gojo: I've always told my students, "when you die, you die alone", so please tell me this is just some stupid dream.

Geto: Does it matter?

Gojo scratches the back of his head in irritation.

Gojo: *Sigh* And I was gonna tell Megumi about his dad too...

Gojo: But I guess I asked Shoko to handle that.

Geto: So, how was the king of curses?

Gojo: Man, he was pretty damn strong. I got the feeling that he had more tricks up his sleeve too.

-- Page four --

Gojo: I wonder how different the outcome would've been if Sukuna didn't have the ten shadows technique.

Geto: It's weird to hear you talking like this, he must've been really strong, huh?

Gojo: Still, I kinda feel sorry for him.

Geto: ?

Gojo: I know all too well, the loneliness that comes with being at the top. There was always a gulf between me and everyone else, even if they adored me.

Gojo: You can admire a blooming flower, but you can't ask it to understand you.

-- Page five --

Gojo looks down at his clenched fist.

Gojo: I really gave it my all to beat him. All my physical training, the techniques I'd mastered. My explosiveness, quick thinking and attempts at humour. I put everything into it, but it still wasn't enough.

An image of Sukuna's cold gaze is shown, surrounded by shadows.

"The loneliness that comes with unrivalled strength. The one who will teach you about love is-"

Gojo is shown with a melancholic smile, still looking at his fist.

Gojo: I had fun.

-- Page six --

Gojo: I couldn't push Sukuna to his limit though, and I think that's sad.

Geto rests his head on his hand.

Geto: I'm jealous. You at least had the satisfaction of going out with a bang.

Gojo: Satisfaction, huh?

An image of an older Geto stands smiling amongst Gojo's friends as they see him off before his final battle.

Gojo: Maybe I would have been satisfied, if you were there to give me a slap on the back as well.

Geto faces down with his eyes shut, still resting his head against his hand, he smiles.

Geto: Heh heh.

-- Page seven --

Gojo: At least I got to die against someone as strong as me, instead of being stuck in that stupid box forever.

Unknown voice: What are you, a samurai?

Gojo is surprised by a familiar voice and looks behind him to see a younger Nanami and Haibara sitting right behind him.

Nanami: Seriously. You should know it's in poor taste to think like that in the present.

Gojo: Huuuh?

Nanami: Then again, that mindset of yours is probably why you outlived me.

Haibara: You and Gojo-san just miscalculated a little bit.

Gojo reaches behind to annoy Nanami by grabbing his head. Nanami tries to wave Gojo's hand off him.

Nanami: I remember once asking Geto why we couldn't just leave everything to you.

Nanami: After all, you didn't care much for jujutsu sorcery, or for protecting people, it was mostly just a game for you.

Gojo appears to be mildly offended by Nanami's blunt criticism.

-- Page eight --

Haibara: Truth is, we all thought that about Gojo-san! But we couldn't bring ourselves to say it out loud.

Nanami: Why are you bringing it up now then...

Haibara: Sooorry!

Nanami: Well, that feeling about you...

Geto: Was just proven right by your actions a second ago.

Gojo looks unnerved.

Gojo: ...

Nanami: Can't say I approve, but I do sympathize.

Gojo: Yeah, yeah, thanks. And how do you feel about your demise?

-- Page nine --

Haibara: Ahhh, I kinda butted in back then...

Nanami: Curses can bring people back to life. The same way sorcery can.

Nanami: I once asked Mei-san about where I should go to live.

Nanami: She said if you'd like to become someone new, go north. If you'd like to return to who you once were, go south.

-- Page ten --

Nanami: Back then, I didn't hesitate on choosing south. I've always looked at the past, so I found it ironic when I died betting on the future.

Nanami: As final moments go, it wasn't bad. I'm grateful to you as well, Haibara.

Haibara awkwardly scratches the back of his head.

Haibara: You're too kind!

Gojo looks down again with a faint smile.

Gojo: I see.

-- Page eleven --

Gojo looks up and spots principal Yaga nearby.

Gojo: Hey, principaaal! 'Thought ya said no jujutsu sorcerer dies without regrets!

Yaga: *Sigh* Even in death, you're too loud.

Gojo laughs with everyone, including Riko and Kuroi who are also shown nearby, and Toji can be seen walking by in the distance.

-- Page twelve --

Gojo walks over to the airport window and looks up at the clear blue sky.

Gojo: I do have one regret though. All you guys will have to take over for me now. Sorry Megumi, it'll be in their hands now to get you back.

Images of Gojo's students are shown as he thinks about each of them, causing him to smile with hope.

Gojo: That's okay though, after all... I have faith in everyone.

Gojo continues to stare at the sky before he closes his eyes.

-- Page thirteen/fourteen --

The scene transitions back to reality. A double page spread shows Gojo's upper body, lying on the ground, staring at the same clear blue sky with lifeless, half-open eyes. Blood can be seen flowing from his mouth as well as being splattered below the upper half of his body.

-- Page fifteen --

Everyone who was spectating the battle is shocked and speechless at what has occurred. Yuji and Yuta are seen particularly distraught. Maki places her arm on Yuta's shoulder as she looks on with a serious expression.

Yuji: Gojo Sensei!!!

Shoko's unfinished cigarette falls from her mouth.

Shoko: How...

Kusakabe: That shouldn't be possible!

Kashimo: It's time.

Kashimo is seen turning away and walking briefly before disappearing from the room at lightning speed.

-- Page sixteen --

Sukuna: Mahoraga's adaptation begins after the first attack. Then it takes time to analyse. Completing adaptation is only a matter of time.

Sukuna: If it receives another identical attack during that calculation period, the adaptation will accelerate.

Sukuna: Once a technique has been adapted to, the analysis doesn't stop there. It continues to adapt further.

Sukuna: What I wanted from Mahoraga was a "model". A model of how to cut through your infinity.

-- Page seventeen --

Sukuna: At first, Mahoraga was altering the nature of its own cursed energy in order to neutralise and nullify your infinity.

Everyone who was watching the battle from the room stands up, still watching, unsure of what to do next.

Sukuna: That was something I was unable to do, so I waited. I waited for Mahoraga to discover another adaptation to counter your infinity, one that I would be able to imitate.

Sukuna: The second adaptation was exactly what I was looking for. Mahoraga was sending slashes like my own, but these slashes could bypass your infinity.

Sukuna: I theorized that Mahoraga was expanding the technique's target. That the target of these slashes wasn't Gojo Satoru, but space itself. Therefore, it could cut everything within those slashes.

-- Page eighteen --

Gojo's entire body is revealed, showing his upper body lying on the floor while his lower half remains standing. It becomes clear that Gojo was cut in half from Sukuna's attack. Gojo's body is covered in blood.

Sukuna remains standing, facing Gojo as he continues his explanation.

Sukuna: As long as you existed within space like everything else, your infinity was powerless to stop my attack.

Sukuna: Even after being shown how it was done, I wasn't sure if I could replicate it myself, so I had to make a gamble.

Sukuna: After being backed into a corner, I waited for you to drop your guard and give me an opportunity. Then, I put all my focus into recreating that attack.

Sukuna: It proved to be an effective model after all.

-- Page nineteen --

Sukuna smiles with satisfaction.

Sukuna: But I have to admit, this is truly the furthest I've ever been pushed. Well done, Gojo Satoru, you have my respect. I won't forget you for as long as I live.

Hearing these words, a faint smile can be seen from Gojo's bloodied mouth. Sukuna turns away.

Sukuna: Now then...

Kashimo can be seen rushing towards to the battlefield from the distance.

Sukuna: I'm in a good mood. So you better entertain me.

[Narration text: Kashimo, the thunder God, dashes toward near-certain death.]

-- Chapter end --

[poindexters-labratory]

I know you for the silly bear game content but I just realized you have a creepy pas to AU I am interested in knowing more about this

CREEPYPASTA!!!

My creepypasta AU is very, very fun for me. It's called The Abyss and it's been in the brainstorming process for four years, perhaps four and a half. It's gone through multiple phases and development time periods, but I'm glad to say that the concept comic is being worked on currently as of answering this ask!

It's based on the 2010's creepypasta fandom, with characters such as Jeff the Killer, Slenderman, Masky, Hoodie, Clockwork, Jane the Killer, etc., all reconfigured and reimagined to be a supposed continuation of Marble Hornets and a creepypasta crossover.

It's called The Abyss because the Abyss is the homebase that everyone returns to, it being an alternate dimension of nothing but dead trees, dilapidated buildings, endless night, and a whole bunch of evil human beings running amuck. Fantastic fun!

The basic gist of what's going to be happening when the series starts is, in the year 2021, Tim Wright is still running and escaping from the tentacles of the "Slenderman", "Operator", "Superior", what have you, but we just refer to it as The Boss. Tim is a very valuable asset that keeps managing to escape from it, valuable because... no one really knows. The Boss doesn't speak. If you work for it, you just get a general feeling of what it wants at any point in time.

Usually, the missions that the Proxies (the title is very nostalgic for me) go on usually involve mercenary and assassin work toward the Surface's (reality's) worst people to ever exist. Originally, The Abyss was only going to center around this concept, but I thought including a manhunt featuring Tim from Marble Hornets would be an interesting plot to center all the other characters around.

There are three different categories of characters that interact with each other: The Proxies, The Outcasts, and The Apprentices. You'll get a chance to meet all of them, don't worry. The cast is made up of redesigned and rewritten creepypastas in order to fit the narrative (hence why it's called an AU), and then a few original characters of my own to fill gaps here and there.

Both this and Hurricane have been my passion projects and I've already introduced Wild Cat to this blog, and I'll be over the moon to start working on The Abyss when I learn how to balance both projects. Gotta remember that I'm working by myself on this and I'm not superhuman :3

If anyone else would like to send me an ask about anything at all, feel free to do so! I love to answer questions <333

[absolute-flaming-trash]

… I started a new Mahito fic. So now I have four to finish lol. Bust I have a writer’s block T~T How do you deal with writer’s block? - writer anon

Hey I get it, the WIP folder is a desolate land /lh, but I do have a few tips and tricks to help and get out of the funk.

Granted these are not guaranteed. You cannot force creativity, but I've found these have definitely helped to a certain degree.

Word Vomit

For each fic that I do, I have a document separate from the WIP that is the layout for how I want it to go, and it's just straight word vomit. Stream of consciousness, if you will. This not only helps get ideas, no matter how small, down on the paper, but it also takes away the pressure of having the ideas "perfectly" formed before putting them into the actual WIP.

2. Enrichment

Go for walks, listen to music, or even (if you use it) spray different body scents/perfumes/colognes on yourself. You'd be surprised how much altering one thing will start the flow of ideas.

3. Accept The Garbage (affectionate)

I've found a lot of my own writers block comes from wanting the first draft to be absolutely perfect, and one of the hardest things to accept when it comes to writing is that this is not going to be the case. It is okay to write something you are not proud of, this is why it's called a draft. I have rewritten fics more times than I can count, sometimes upwards of five times.

4. Talk With Friends

If you are well and truly stuck and don't know where to go, talk with other friends who are into the same thing as you. I've found, a HUGE majority of the time, they'll think of something you didn't and will help way beyond what you were initially going for. This being said, make sure to ask if it's okay to use whatever ideas they gave ahead of time, or directly in that moment if you didn't beforehand and really really like the idea.

I hope these help!!

[trickster-shi]

1/19/24 Writing Projects Update

Last week was pretty slow with minimal progress on anything, hence no update then. There was an arctic cold blast that came through the area and between that and the day job, my brain only cared about vegging out and staying warm, so I mainly read a lot of fanfic and poked my writing with a stick every few days.

Though, I know exactly where each one needs to go next. The real problem was getting the words in the brain to arrange themselves in an orderly fashion to come out of he fingers. They didn't want to do that. All they wanted to do was scatter and hide any time I came near them, kinda like squirrels on a sugar high.

Until yesterday. Yesterday was one of those days I love having when everything aligns just right. I didn't have an overwhelming work load at the day job and, all of a sudden, the words were there.

Project Zander

Word Count: 6364 for Chapter Two

So, yesterday I started out doing some world building and brain dumping about part one and two on the role of magic in the world and the difference between regular witches and what the trio become. That evolved into exploring the culture around magic for two different countries which evolved into shaping the plot of parts one and two, coming up with plot twists and foundations for part three, and exploring the concept of the power of belief when it comes to legends and gods entangled in magic.

At lunch, I was still brimming with excitement about what I'd put down and ended up finishing the last scene of chapter two. It's been bugging me for over a week now, because I only needed to finish one scene and it was like pulling teeth. The scene wasn't even that complicated, either, but I managed to get it finished, so score for me!

Now I can dedicate my weekend to polishing chapter two and getting it ready to send off to my beta reader. I'm always rather happy to get to this part of the writing process. I love it all, but the editing and rewriting sometimes feels like I make more progress faster, probably because I have something on the page to work with so there's a visual marker.

So, story-wise, the trio are on the move, a little broken and battered and highly concerned about avoiding the predator that will soon be stalking their trail. The chapter was from Darius' POV and he is both drowning in anxiety and completely over the situation as a whole. He would love a hot bowl of soup, a warm blanket, and for someone else to be in charge so he can focus on bitching about the snow and how much he is not made for winter.

Unfortunately, in chapter three, he will still be stuck out in the snow and things will continue to get worse. :D

Rabbit Come Home Part 3

Word Count: 16549

This one took me by surprise during certain parts of last week when I didn't want to write much at all but I ended up editing and rewriting quite a bit on it. My main problem with part three has been how to give the series a satisfying ending, but I think I figured it out.

And it may need a part 4. Possibly. More than likely.

I've also written, re-written, and re-rewritten the scene where Stiles tells everyone what really happened and why she was gone for four years. I'm still not completely satisfied with it, so I think I may rewrite it one more time from a different angle between Stiles and Lydia and see how that one plays out. I have versions where she tells John first, then where she tells Derek first, and I just don't feel quite sold on either.

Also, there has to be one more dramatic and angsty fight scene where Stiles can show off her zombie apocalypse skills and the more I try to wrap up this chapter, the more I'm realizing it just won't fit in part three. Part three needs to be focused on Stiles settling back into her home reality and patching things up with the pack--and learning about what happened while she was gone.

But I have a good idea of how that needs to go, I just have to get through the Reveal scene/s to my liking. Then I can work on the ending. I'm really excited about the ending idea I have.

Home Across the Universe, Story #10

Word Count: 3216

Not a lot has been done on this one in the past two weeks. I've poked at it here and there, did some rewriting and some cutting. Mostly it's still marinating on a back burner. I'll probably take another run at it once I get Zander's chapter done and sent off.

Into the Black, Episode 2

Word Count: 5876

Another one still marinating, I don't think I did anything new on it, but I've made some notes on it here and there when inspiration strikes and I'm excited to work on the later scenes that happen planet-side, since it will reveal some more of what happened at the Academy to Stiles and Lydia and introduce another Teen Wolf character into the mix.

I've also made some short brainstorm session notes on future episodes. Guys, I don't want to spoil too much, so I'll just say this: Coach Finstock, in space. Oh yeah, it'll happen and it's gonna be glorious.