#so I’m trying to set goals for myself idk

[micamicster]

I do mainly see writing as like a fun hobby i pursue when the impulse strikes me but i really do always want to improve! So because this is a blog im thinking about my writing goals for this current project:

Try to pull back and be more ambiguous when writing metaphors etc try not to state things so directly

Reduce the amount of like, buffer words, like she thinks or she feels. We’re in her pov we already know this is her thinking

Try to make my protagonist interesting without relying on her being funny (why didn’t I just write a funny protagonist?? what was I thinking!)

[eunhos]

.

[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)

[remcycl333]

Is putting my awareness on having it the same as feeling it real? I feel like I put too much pressure on trying to feel how I would if I had it in the 3d and that’s where I struggle. I want to manifest moving out and given the circumstances I need it to reflect asap but idk how to feel it real and not panic when the circumstances are all up in my face and taking a toll on me. I’m so sorry if that was a lot, thank you so much for being so patient.

feeling it real doesn't have to feel like happiness or euphoria! sometimes the feeling of knowing doesn't feel like anything. so yes, as long as you're aware of the fact that you have it in imagination, that's enough! i have a friend who manifested her sp, and she said that the whole time she was manifesting her sp she felt anxious about it every day, but she just stood firm in the fact that her sp was hers and it still manifested!

i went through the same thing while manifesting at first. like when i was manifesting my sp a couple years ago, the DAY before he finally reached out to me i was sooo anxious out of nowhere, constantly thinking about how i much be doing everything wrong bc it wasn't here yet, how i needed to start over, how it'd be days without anything, etc, but i'd just talk to myself and be like "no im doing everything right, i already have it, im good, this isn't gonna effect anything bc its mine" etc.

having feelings of anxiety or worry is not a failure on your part, and they won't mess anything up (unless you assume they will). i've read this somewhere, i think it was twitter but i can't remember who said it, but think about anxiety. it's not logical! usually you feel anxious over something that you think will never even actually happen, but you still feel anxious anyway. or i have friends who sometimes say they're super anxious and they don't even know why. i had social anxiety as a teenager and i'd be soo anxious in social settings. what did i think was going to happen? nothing, but i was still anxious for no reason constantly. and my anxiety never manifested, because even i knew it was illogical. it still hindered me in other ways, but it didn't manifest into negative circumstances in my reality!

re-reading your ask i realize u didn't mention anxiety 😭 but im still gonna keep all that in bc i still think you/other people will benefit from those anecdotes! lol

"idk how to feel it real and not panic when the circumstances are all up in my face and taking a toll on me"

in my experience, you don't need to focus on feeling it real constantly! i focus on feeling it real while im imagining, but during the day, i just shift my state when i need to. that being said, there's no pressure to be in the state of the wish fulfilled every second of the day! the main goal is to enter TSOTWF more than the state of lack, but there's also more states you can enter throughout the day! sometimes during the day you're neither in the state of the wish fulfilled nor the state of lack. there's such thing as a neutral state! so if you're panicking and it's hard for you to shift back to your desired state, you can focus on shifting to a neutral state. you can do this by trying to calm yourself down, talking to yourself, meditating, taking deep breaths, etc. if you need to just take deep breaths and think of something else that has nothing to do with your desire, go for it!

if im manifesting something on a time crunch, it always really helps me to just deep breathe and talk to myself, saying things such as "there's nothing to worry about, its mine, it's promised, everything is going to work out perfectly, my 3D is going to change, my inner man already has it and my inner man is me" etc.

i manifested moving out and this was very helpful for me! i dealt with very toxic, narcissistic parents and my family struggled with money for most of my life. sometimes my parents would be yelling at me for no reason and it'd trigger me bc i was manifesting living in my own apartment on my own. in these times i'd focus on remaining calm and staying in a neutral state. eventually it got easier for me and i'd be able to talk to myself in my head while getting yelled at, saying stuff like "im so glad this isn't my life anymore, im so glad i live on my own whew" etc. i'd also imagine that i was just visiting home and i couldn't wait for my visit to be over so i could go back to my own apartment again.

just remember that no matter what happens in your 3D, nothing can stop you from having your desire in your imagination. you moved out in your 4D and nothing can change that! it is fact, and all you have to do is persist in that face. you don't have to gaslight or trick yourself into thinking you moved out in the 3D. you just need to stand firm in the fact you have it in your 4D.

anywayzzz i hope this helps! i hope i answered your question i fear i went on multiple different tangents lol <3

[satancopilotsmytardis]

How do you settle down to write? Like do you put music on, have a certain set up, a snack?

I’m mainly asking because I have multiple fanfic on hiatus (some for 3 years 💀💀💀) because I can’t just sit down and write 😭

I have all this inspiration, and all these ideas (I have 582 open docs 0-0) but struggle to write more than a few sentences a week. I’m not short on ideas by any means, I just can’t WRITE them.

Okay so you gotta figure out what works for you. I read this and my immediate reaction was "well I can't answer that, I just sit down and write, that's not going to be helpful". And I do just sit down and write, I have a lot of things I'm working on, but I pick one or two a day to do and then I just write.

BUT I use 4thewords which is a website that creates an RPG around writing. Every amount you write can progress the story, give you in-game rewards, and help you build a writing streak (at the time of writing I am at 999 days in my streak (I have absolutely missed days but you can recover those with stempos)). I'll be honest, I haven't read a single game pop-up that actually explains the story, I literally don't care about it. But I knew I wrote the most when I was at school participating in Nanowrimo where I could do word sprints and word crawls with other people, and I couldn't hold myself accountable to do them on my own. But the monsters on 4thewords and the quests that can be done help me to stay on track and keep writing.

On days when I don't want to write, I still often end up groaning and saying ugh, if I just defeat ten monsters that each are only 44 words, then I can earn my daily chest, that won't take that long. And I do it. Or if I'm at 3.8k words and I want to stop, ugh there's another reward if I hit 4k, so I might as well just finish the last 200 words. And then, oh wait, there's another reward at 5k, how long will 1k more take me?

I use this site because it has built-in goals and rewards so that I have accountability outside of myself to keep me motivated and producing words. That's the method that I've found works best for me. If you're someone who likes external goals and deadlines, then that might work for you too (or a different similar site-- this one does have a paid subscription, but there is also a free trial to give it a go if you'd like).

If you think that having outside deadlines is too much pressure, then this probably isn't the method for you. Do you edit too much as you write? Try writing in white font on a white page (or whatever color you'd like) so that you can't see what you're writing. Do you get distracted researching something that will amount to one line of text? Put that thing [in brackets] and don't research it until you are going back to edit and adjust from there (same works with naming places or characters). Do you need other people to motivate you? Join a forum (4thewords has lots of these but I don't visit them) or have an IRL buddy who will check in with you and ask you if you wrote that day. Is your writing space uncomfortable? Too comfortable? Optimize it for you! No motivation due to mental illness? Been there, fully understandable, take the time you need to work on that first and other things will start to fall back into place as the brain recuperates.

Not writing when you want to write means that something else is going on, and it has to be you who figures out what that is and makes the changes that are needed to get you writing again. Idk if this was actually helpful, but literally I roll out of bed every day thinking about doing my dailies like a mobile gamer so like... this is all I've got, sorry!

[eternalglitch]

How do you find the motivation to work on long multi chapter writing like LFLS, especially when you need to take breaks (from either writing or posting or both)? I’m guessing this is easier when you don’t do the pantsing method like I do but idk maybe im just weak 😅😭

There's definitely a few different attributes to allow an artist to keep at one project for a long time. All of which, luckily, are pretty much possible to work and improve on, although some people will find it harder to get started on this than others.

First up, the pantsing technique was also my preferred first approach to things, but it just isn't feasible for longer works. Your ability to write good themes and good foreshadowing gets almost entirely removed, not to mention coming back from breaks. I've taken several 6-10 month writing breaks over the span of this fic, and I would probably not want to pick it back up if I didn't have a "here is exactly where you were trying to go" road map on hand when I'm recharged and ready to return. After that much time, it's pretty normal to forget all of the plans you had initially had for something, so you have to put in extra work to catch back up to wherever you had left off. Coming back from break when you feel rusty is already hard enough; no need to further complicate things.

After that, you really need practice at dedicating yourself to a longer project. I've written two novels that will probably never be used for anything or shown to a larger audience, but they were training grounds on what a larger project felt like to write and complete. Honestly if I didn't have a large exam in December, I would write a third this November during NaNoWriMo, as I need to revisit the feeling of being forced to write even if I don't feel up to it. It's similar to keeping muscles up at the gym; its maintenance to work on that lets you go further and faster with creating long works. I like training for this by setting challenges or goals for myself, as I have a naturally stubborn personality that hates losing or failing to complete a goal. Learn how your brain works and trick it into doing what you want it to do.

The final thing is to trick your brain into getting well and truly obsessed with your work. You want the energy of being the biggest fan that cannot wait for that next installment. And sometimes you'll have to drag yourself to actually make that work happen, but you want it done bad enough that it doesn't matter. It helps to choose bigger projects you fill with your favorite things from the start.

Oh, and keep your plans secret. Telling people your plans tricks your brain into feeling satisfied that it already did the work.

[xoxitgirl]

my manifestation routine!! 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

so I been wanting to make something like thisss for a while, pls only take what resonates (:

my goal in manifestation is always to walk by faith and not by sight.

part one—deciding what it is + intent

what do I want? and I get really specific because I like having a image in my head of exactly what i want. I also set an intention that if my desire is something I consider important, I will continue until I feel fulfilled.

I recommend making your own manifestation rules as well! I have a list of rules that I remind myself of throughout the day. for ex: manifestation is instant, I get what I want when I want it, negative thoughts don’t manifest, etc.

part two—visualizing

so I visualize everythinggg I want. wether it be daydreaming, SATS, the lil movie method (?) where you play small scenes of u getting ur desire in ur head repeatedly, or meditating while holding an image. I’m constantly showing myself what I want throughout the day. theres really no limit or minimum, I would say just do it anytime you feel like your mind is straying away from being fulfilled.

I also include vision boards with this because I make them a lottt and love pinterest so its kinda like why not? if I feel hellla motivated I print them out and put them above my bed so my vision is saturating into my mind every morning & night. also doing this has helped me manifest in the past so now I jus love falling asleep to my vzn.

part three—living in the end

this is where I really start using my other methods and only do SATS at night. I also give myself like 1-2 weeks of doing methods before stopping completely. so I would journal as if, listen or find subliminals for whatever it is, and use any method or challenge I want to continually feel like I have whatever my desire is. I don’t like relying on things, so I would only listen to subs or do methods for about a week or two before stopping and just focusing on moment by moment. idk why but stopping and allowing myself to just manifest through my state of being always helps a lottt. all I do is ask myself; how would I feel with this? if i had this would i be reacting this way? and I allow myself to go through the way I would feel to have my desire over and over and over and over.

cheat codes!

i use water as a placebo. drinking water? my desire is mine. taking a shower? my desire is mine.

someone said a key to manifesting is having an empty mind. and I thought nah at first til I started consciously clearing my mind and oml, its made me feel a lot less anxious about what i want. I would just affirm for a clear mind or think of how I would feel with no thoughts and it helps me not overthink my manifestations.

you feel like things are difficult? stop trying. like literally the more u “try” the more its like ur tryna prove to yourself something. at first I would get so irritated when people would tell me this but its so true, you don’t need to try to do or be anything, just simply decide you are and you are! theres nothing to prove or achieve because you already are the person who has it all. when it feels hard remind yourself of your power. you never have to worry about anything because you ALWAYS get what u want—period.

[aheathen-conceivably]

I really want to start my own legacy challenge and post it here! But idk how to make it look as pretty and as good as you, do you have any tips?

Nonny, first and foremost, thank you! 🥰

While I am usually very happy with the way my posts look now, it wasn’t always that way, and I think the biggest part of this is the process. If you go back and look at my early story posts (and even before that, to my first builds that I posted here) you’ll see that the style and techniques I used then are very different than what I do now.

All too often I find simblrs (and creators in general) will delete or redo their early work. As a perfectionist myself I totally get and share that instinct, but simultaneously I think that looking back helps remind me that it takes practice and discovery that’s still ongoing. I’ll try to help with a few tips I’ve learned along the way, but I truly don’t think there’s any better answer than trial and error!

1. Camera tips and tricks:

First and foremost, always take your photos in tab mode. Even if it’s just gameplay shots, this allows you to get creative with angles and go closer/further away for those detail shots or sweeping landscape ones. On that note, don’t be afraid to take the same photo from multiple angles so that you can look back at them and choose the best one.

Something I read very early on that helped me was to zoom in as close as possible to the shot that you want, and then back away using the S key rather than zoom out. Likewise, avoid zooming in and out and then in again in tab mode, as it can cause distortion in the background. However, there are also times when that distant background looks great, so this is just a good place to start that you can play around with over time. And have fun! Get those detail shots and low angles and things that might not seem like the most obvious shot but somehow work really well.

2. Take time on the details:

Now this is an overarching one because I mean all the details, from the world, to the builds, to interior decorating, to sim details, to their outfits. Now you may only enjoy a handful of these, and by no means do you have to jump in with all of them at once. For me, I really enjoy interior decorating so I put a lot of energy into my sets, that way when I go to take photos the backdrop work is already done. I really try to ensure that the backgrounds of photos are never empty (which is sometimes just clever angles) so this goes a long way to making a post look good and gives the viewer lots of little cues about the sims in the scene.

Likewise, I spend a lot of time on sims outfits. Usually this is in tangent with their personality and where they are in their story, but you’ll also notice small things like characters will not always be wearing shoes at home or an apron/hat will be taken off at an appropriate point in the scene. Small details like this ground a character in their setting and help relate your writing and/or unwritten details to the viewer.

3. Editing:

This is one that I think is really mutable to your personal tastes and goals. I’ve seen some simmers really go above and beyond with unique templates or text while others (ahem, me) will just brighten up or increase the contrast of a shot. I know others will often use photoshop for more detailed editing, but I stick with an online service just to make the brightness and colors pop. Even still, those few extra steps can really balance out the in-game lighting or make a photo even more pleasing to look at, so I really recommend finding something you like if aesthetics are important to you.

4. All the extra things:

Simmers, I think you already know where I’m going with this. Sometimes this game isn’t exactly the most pleasing to look at, so things like lighting mods, swre, or reshade really help you as a creator and can take your screens to the next level. As I’m sure y’all know by now I fought the reshade train for a long time, and even still I can see how this process can be over involved or overwhelming; however I won’t deny that the addition of it to my game is by far the biggest step I’ve taken to making my photos look as good as they currently do, and it has saved me a lot of time on manually editing. But I do not think it’s by any means necessary, and lighting mods are a good place to start for these in-game enhancers.

5. Trust the process

Yes, I’m ending this ramble by reiterating the point I stated at the beginning. I cannot stress enough that it takes time and practice to find your style and the techniques that work for you. I would really encourage you to go back to this post compared to recent ones and look at how different the camera angles and ideas behind the shots are. Changing is okay! Find what you’re really excited about in your images (which for me, y’all may be able to tell from the beginning, was the outfits and set design) and really enjoy that process. It comes through in the images, I promise!

Most of all, don’t feel like you have to perfect your visuals before you start posting here. Community feedback and just the joy of engaging can be such a motivator to continue, and quite honestly, if there is a place to grow your style and content as you go it’s here. People are so willing to help and answer questions as you encounter new roadblocks or ideas, and so starting that network and gathering that inspiration is pivotal to making your content look the way you want it to.

I know that I for one hope you post your legacy, Nonny! I always love seeing new people come aboard and I hope this could be helpful to you 💕

[gatheringbones]

i have a question that I've been trying to puzzle out the answer for -- I've noticed that some speculative fiction takes a queer is normal approach because "in the future or since there's aliens! and werewolves! who has the time to question gender?" kind of mindset. as much as I treasure the thought of a future where different phobias aren't a thing, and I don't want to be someone who take too much pride and ego in the suffering (perhaps not the right word) I've been through and survived, it also makes me feel strange in that kind of mindset that, of course there's lesbians and trans people in space! without any homophobia whatsoever. my question is, do you think queernorm is possible in a good way in speculative fiction in a setting where it's so far in the future where idk. teleportation or cloning or body modification or cyborgs exist? regency/historical/fantasy novels tend to be set "in the past" and erasing the colonialism, the racism/xenophobia, not questioning why it's ok to murder orcs/an acceptable group of people, and then suddenly having Gays Are Perfectly Fine and Acceptable is definitely weird, considering all these other biases. But what of scifi? Sorry I'm not as concise and cohesive as I wish I was. I'm in a spot where I do read these and I do think it's fun, but it bothers me as someone whose race/transgender/homosexuality/background as an immigrant has informed so much of me that reading these things has been a war of "I should be happy for others that they imagine this future for themselves and it's all just fun imagination anyways!" vs. "this is not the future I'm sure that I want but I'm worried that I'm too attached to my identity and that's why I'm not considering this other possibility of what science fiction or speculative fiction could imagine for me"

that’s it exactly isn’t it— what’s “normal” when we’re in a speculative world where we’ve supposedly transcended all forms of normal? what’s normal in a future we haven’t seen yet?

answering that would mean looking at the quality of the relationships and the dynamics between the people inside of them and seeing how they connect to present day conceptions of normative behavior. You would have to look at how this comforting speculative world arranges power and the relationships between people with various forms of power.

in assimilationist fiction, queer people assume very specific positions in the story. Their existence summons and soothes specific anxieties crucial to the assimilationist mind— will my straight parents accept me? will my straight friends and acquaintances accept me? am I normal? is the way I love valid? Do I have to change anything about myself just because I’m (cringe) queer? can I go on about my life as a normal person who just happens to be (cringe) queer? will I be able to achieve the standard and normal markers of success for a white, upper-to-middle class, able-bodied person even though I’m (cringe) queer?

the assimilationist story will take these anxieties in hand and address them with the goal of seamlessly incorporating queerness into a heteronormative story structure with functionally no difference between queer and straight (which has the effect of making everyone seem incredibly straight).

I hear you on the taking too much pride and ego in suffering, but I want to poke at that as well— is queer difference really rooted in suffering? are our identities nothing more than wound sites? what IS queer difference and how and why must it be assimilated into heteronormativity and its stranglehold on culture? how does heteronormativity manifest in queer works and what needs does it fill for the queer creator manifesting it? what is it about heteronormativity that feels so so reassuring and interesting and good for queer writers?

it all depends on what the werewolves and aliens in your sci fi are doing, in other words— and who they’re doing it to and why. It depends on what anxieties are present in the text and how the text itself chooses to address them. It depends on the author’s relationship to queer culture and how they relate to cultural norms to begin with, because there won’t be anything like our set of norms in a speculative futuristic world, so the whole question revolves around what is purported to be normal and how the people in that world are meant to relate to that paradigm.

it’s tricky! I don’t have answers, just a whole heap of books written by queer authors who just want to fit in and make money you couldn’t pay me to read.

[timestillstands]

RAAHAHHAHAHRF

Hi i’m normal

Tell me about your au so I can EAT IT (the information, I mean.)

RRRAGHHHHH HELLO SLIME I HAVE NOT SEEN IN THE PAST TEN MINUTES COUGH COUGH

Hurrrg this might take me overnight because I'm sickies and exhausted but um anyways I'll try and do what I can

BA NA NA NA NAA ENTER THE READER. 100 men's anxiety packaged ever so careful. but not labeled as fragile. Has an overwhelming sense of people pleaser. also thinks everyone hates them if they aren't close w them. I wonder who could write such a self insert. Reader needs a job(you either quit or got fired from your last job) and you're fresh out of college(where you majored in engineering or something. idk.), what better place to turn to than the one and only(that's a lie) PizzaPlex!!!!

Yeah uh hahaha Sun doesn't like you. yayyy. you totally don't blame yourself at all. you do actually ignore that.

Haven't mentioned this yet but the dca is actually trying to PROTECT you. which is funny. because. you get harmed. physically and mentally. a lot. all apart of the plan to get you to quit !!!!

also sun and moon are one person in this au, which is extra fun because yayyy that totally isn't hard to explain at all. I did this to myself. moon is a set of nighttime protocols, while sun is day-time protocols. it just alters how he acts around you and talks etc etc. they both have the same goals and want you OUT.

Moon has very crappy programming; when they tried removing him or reprogramming him entirely, which they gave up on, they weren't very smart and didn't go back to fix anything they have erased. yknow. like safety measures. because. why would they try to do that.

They were more worried about fixing sun and just said screw it, shoving moon in there for a while as the naptime attendant before they realized they fuzzled up. oh good fun. so moon is like, erased from anything besides merchandise. sun won't even talk about what he did. or the fact that he's the same person as moon.

that turned into a bigger problem. why on earth would anyone want to give you a proper set of instructions? sun dismisses any sort of question about moon(who you were specifically told to FIX. by said date unless further complications arrived. they do, btw.) hey, at least we have Vanessa!

your brief encounter w her was great, she got along with you for the short amount of time that you talked that first time. you brought up moon, not having any other real coworker outside of staff bots and the dca around to ask. HEY !!! SHE KNOWS SHIT !!!

so you get some information, really rare around these parts, and haha. yay. you head out for the day and guess what? tomorrow you have a nightshift. fingerguns.

btw. you've never had a nightshift or anything. but you didn't think it was weird or anything to not have lights on, it was night, right?(ahaha that rhymed)

ouhg. hi Moon. um. btw. he likes playing hide and seek ����

and that's like. the rough outline for the first two chapters

☝️me explaining my au 😁😁😁

[writtenonreceipts]

hey! I love your writing so much <3

I’m curious how you find / make time to write fanfic?

I’ve been on a long hiatus after realizing that I can’t rly find the time to write during college but now I’m wondering how to navigate it all after I graduate so… yeah. Any tips / advice?

Friend!! Hi!! How are you???

Oh my lands, its so good to see your username!!

<3<3<3 Thanks so much, you're too kind to me :(

Minor backstory because I can't stop talking: When I was in college, it never felt like I got much writing done. Really, the only original writing I did get done was when it related directly to a creative writing course I was taking. And by that point I'd already made the decision that I would be a published author. So, I made goals. I set aside time specifically during the day (and night) to write. I got to class early? Pulled up a document. I finished a reading or study session? Pulled up a document. It wasn't until I was enrolled in a few higher level/intense workshops that I was able to find a rhythm. I joined a critique group and for the last six (maybe seven?) years we've been meeting consistently sharing chapters of out work and giving feedback. I've learned so much and I still have a ways to go

Truth be told? I'm the worst. HA!

The biggest thing that I have learned to help me when I am trying to write, to meet a deadline, to see a change or improvement: goals. Give myself goals and a timeline. Especially out of college. You don't have as much pressure (some, but different types). And being out of college I've done my best to hold myself accountable for my writing and the progress I make on my stories. With my writing group, I have to have something ready, so that gets me writing.

I time myself and check word counts for a given period of time. Usually I do half hour to one hour writing sprints. I look at my project and think about what needs to happen in this scene and where I'm going with it as a general guide and then go for it! I look at my project as a whole and see where I want it to go. I try and get an idea of when I can reasonably have it finished.

It's so hard. I fail a lot of the time. But I keep trying. I surround myself with good people, good authors to follow (and many authors either have podcasts, tips and sites, books etc). I give myself grace. I try again.

I am nowhere near where I wanted to be. Am I disappointed? Yeah. Do I beat myself up? Constantly. But I try again. It takes practice to meet goals. It takes practice to love yourself. But you can do it!

You don't have to write thousands of words a day. YOU DO NOT. Wasn't it Terry Prachett who only wrote like 300 a day? If you find extra time to write extra? Go for it! But don't hold yourself to a standard that is not feasible for you and where you are. You do what works for you. Always.

I rambled tooooo much. SORRY. IDK what came over me. Did any of that help??

[rweoutofthewoods]

heyy, first of all I am sooo glad that the tornado didn't get you, I got scared for a sec, but dw abt being mean in the past, you had boundaries and ppl should respect them and you lashing out bc they didn't isn't really your fault (or something idk I feel like I'm not writing this as eloquently as I wanted to) and you changing those rules is also ok because this is your blog and your account so the only one who has a say in what happens here is you, I think I'm too sleep deprived to be writing an ask but who cares, am I right? Anyway I just wanted to say that, have a good day(night? midday? noon? morning? idk timezones are confusing af)!

YEAH TY I lived thru it (it wound up going past me 😭)

But you’re too kind 🫶 I definitely think there’s boundaries I needed to set in the past and I don’t regret making them only that I didn’t go about it in a better way.

Something I noticed in this fandom and made a hard goal to change in myself a few months ago, was that there’s so much negativity that people expect the worst in each other, and react negatively on first instinct. And that really didn’t sit well with me. I hated I did that too. Like I noticed for example: if someone gets an ask that could be perceived as negative we then instantly react negatively and we just go around in this cycle. I’m guilty of it. But when I started answering mean or negative asks nicely I felt so much better and my blog became a much brighter space too. Then, I started getting less negative asks. And boom, the cycle is cut off.

Anyway that is all to say I appreciate you so much, and I would still set boundaries if the need came up, but go about it differently. I truly believe we don’t need to go an eye for an eye all the time and someone trying to hurt me doesn’t mean I should hurt them back. There’s enough hatefulness in the world already xx

It is night for me rn, so goodnight from my time zone to yours <33

[azurdlywisterious]

The Brainless Ones

AN: As per this poll here, Sir won so it’s time to unleash her on the Mojave. Bit of a challenge for myself trying to keep Sir’s seven different names straight in a way that’s easy to follow, but I think I did it.

Word count: 1.6k

CW: body horror played for comedy (idk how else to describe sir’s empty head), very unethical scientific practices

My eyes take a second to refocus after I’ve been teleported. The doctors made sure to fit my ears with long range walkie talkies so that I could answer their questions in the moment.

“SHELLEY, DID YOU ARRIVE AT THE CRASHED SATELLITE IN ONE PIECE?” Dr. Klein yells into mic.

“You know, you’ll blow out Azami’s speakers if you keep screaming in her ear like that, Klein,” Dr 0 comments.

“I made it one piece,” I inform them before they continue bickering.

Dr. Dala replies, “I’m so happy to hear my little teddy bear Shiloh is doing well.”

I hear the static of Dr. 8 talking, noises that roughly translate to, “Check the screen in your forearm, Lizabeth.”

So I do. It appears that I have a little map of this desert projected on it. There’s even a little “you are here” dot. I’m assuming it will update as I explore more towns and whatnot.

“And how is my granddaughter Dorothy doing?” Dr. Mobius’s voice crackles in my other walkie talkie set.

“How did YOU even get access to Vera’s communication channels, MOBIUS?!” Dr. Borous yells (though thankfully not as loudly as Dr. Klein).

I interject before another argument starts, “My map says that I’m next to a ghost town named Nipton.”

“REPORT ANYTHING INTERESTING YOU FIND, SHELLEY.”

“This is the Think Tank-” Dr. 0 begins saying before getting cut off.

“And Dr. Mobius!”

Dr 0 sighs, “-and Dr. Mobius, signing off.”

I hear them shut their walkie talkies off, leaving me alone in the Mojave.

My first goal: find an assistant. A lab partner if you will.

I poke around Nipton for a while, taking time to examine the dead lobotomites littering the quiet streets, before inevitably moving on. There’s nothing really of interest here. Radscorpions, maybe, but we have radscorpions back at Big MT. I pick a direction that looks promising and follow the road. It should lead somewhere with at least a couple of live lobotomites.

Eventually I am met with some massive lobotomite adjacent creatures. They’re much more muscular than me and their skin is green too. How peculiar. I snap a couple pictures with my eyes. The Think Tank will be thrilled to have pictures of these creatures in situ.

Before I could even attempt to talk one into coming back to the lab with me, I am met with the end of a club made out of rebar and concrete. Dr. Klein made sure to outfit me with gymnastic procedures, so dodging the club was easy. The LRADs Dr. 8 planted in my palms made quick work of them too. I’ll have to ask him if they can be retuned later. At a lower decibel range it might make good crowd control in order to take potential subjects back alive.

I zap the corpses with my Transportalponder for the doctors to examine later.

After walking a bit longer, I suddenly hear, “SHELLEY! WHAT ARE THESE BIG GREEN THINGS SITTING ON THE FLOOR OF THE THINK TANK?”

“They appear to have once been human,” Dr. Dala hypothesizes, “maybe. I will have to give them a more thorough examination.”

“Please try and keep the formography obsession to a minimum this time,” Dr. 0 whines.

The doctors continue their squabbling, but I don’t interrupt. I find their chatter rather soothing out here in this quiet desert.

Eventually, their chatter subsides as they return to their calculations and experiments, neglecting to close the frequency.

I hear Dr. Dala remark, “So they were human once. Fascinating. What happened to them?”

She must be examining those weird beings I found while walking.

“Dala! Allow ME to examine these STANGE CREATURES from the Mojave!” Dr. Borous interjects.

I turn the walkie talkie frequency off, since it appears that I have found more lobotomites.

Based on the movies Dr. 0 would show me, I can see that that is a rollercoaster attached to a hotel. I have no idea why someone would want to attach a rollercoaster to a hotel, though.

I feel a cool breeze descend upon my skin as the sun goes down. I must have been walking for quite a while.

I see an interesting looking lobotomite leaning up against the side of one of the other buildings. His hair is gray despite his young face. He opens his mouth and a puff of smoke comes out. Cigarettes are another thing I learned from Dr. 0’s movies. That and Dr. Borous’s war stories about his days at American High School.

As I approach this lobotomite, he raises his head from his cigarette.

“Now, what’s a pretty lady like you walking around all by herself this late at night?” he asks me.

“Fascinating,” I mutter to myself. “I didn’t know lobotomites could talk.”

He chuckles at my observation. “Now, last time I checked, I haven’t been lobotomized yet, so you should aim your insults elsewhere.”

“Insults?” I cock my head in confusion. “Are you not a lobotomite? Then what are you?”

“Not much these days.” He puffs another cloud of smoke. “Barely even a man these days.”

He takes another drag off his cigarette and I snap a picture of him with my eyes. I have no reason as to why. I don’t think the Think Tank would really care. But I care? Strange. I’ll have to export that picture with a caption about how I feel. Dr. Mobius would be the most likely to have an answer.

“So, if you’re gonna keep staring at me, can you tell me your name?”

What do I tell this lobotomite? The doctors names for me are theirs to call me. I can’t give him that. So what name should I give him? What other names have I been called?

I’ve got it.

“You can call me-”

“Dorothy!” Dr. Mobius’s sing-songy voice comes in loud and clear through the walkie talkie in my ear. “Have you made a friend? Do be sure to offer him a Mentat for me.”

I pop open my head to fish out a Mentat packet from my cranial cavity. I see the lobotomite’s cigarette fall from his lips as he watches with an expression on his face. I have no idea what expression that is.

I hold the Mentat packet out for him. “Dr. Mobius-”

Dr. Mobius cuts me off again with a clearly fake cough.

I sigh and start over, saying, “Dr. Grandpa Mobius wants me to ask you if you would like a Mentat.”

Before the lobotomite can respond, there’s a loud crash followed by Dr. Mobius hastily saying, “There’s been an accident with the roboscorpions in the lab. I have to go, Dorothy! Ta-ta!”

I realize that my head is still open so I shut it. “Would you like a Mentat?”

“Did… did you just pull that out of your head?”

“Where else would I store Mentats?”

“In your pockets! Or- by jove, what even are you?!”

He brandishes a weapon at me. I’m not to worried, though. I calmly put the Mentat packet in the pocket of my pants.

“9mm pistol,” I say. “Based on how heavy it appears to be with you holding it, you only have one to three rounds left in the chamber. It’s in poor condition, and I can smell the adrenaline seeping through your skin, so you’re more likely to miss. And you’ll need more than three bullets to take me out.”

“How did you-?”

“Likewise, I would rather not fight you. You seem like a perfect lab assistant.”

“Lab assistant?”

I roll my eyes and quickly disarm him. One shot goes off but it embeds itself in the wall.

“Sit down,” I say to him. “Drink some water.”

“If it’s also from your skull, then I’d rather not.”

“Suit yourself.” I shrug and sit down next to him. “What’s your name, lobotomite? Do lobotomites have names?”

“I have a name!” he yells with a force not unlike a soda bottle after the soda’s been shook up. “It’s Beagle. Used to be the deputy of this fine town; but well, things change.”

“Fascinating.”

“That guy’s disembodied voice called you Dorothy. Is that your name?”

“That not a name you get to call me,” I can feel my internal fans starting to whirr. “That’s Dr. Mobius’s name for me. You are not Dr. Mobius.”

“Okay? So what should I call you?”

“You can call me Sir.”

He smiles again. “Why Sir?”

“That’s what the Sink’s Central Processing Unit calls me and is the only name I go by that’s not been claimed by a doctor.”

“You’re one strange girl, Sir.”

“Really?” I cock my head to the side again. “The doctors say I’m quite normal.”

“Normal people don’t pull Mentats out of their heads.”

“What else do normal people do?”

His face flushes a delightfully pink color. “You put me on the spot with that one.”

“You’re saying that you don’t have all the answers?”

He chuckles again. “The people in this town don’t necessarily think I’m the smartest person.”

“Come with me, then.” I extend my hand to Beagle. “Be my science deputy.”

He laughs genuinely at that. “What even is a science deputy?”

“It’s a lab assistant, but I renamed it to sound more enticing.”

I pick up his gun and hand it back to him.

He takes it and says, “Well, I can’t have a big mouthed little lady like you roaming the desert alone. I’ll be your science deputy, Sir.”

“Excellent! We’ll start tomorrow. But first,” I pull that packet out of my pocket, “would you like a Mentat?”

[firstdivisiongirl]

hi there <3 I’m hoping that you would be able to do a tokyo revengers matchup for me if its still open :)

my name is Samantha <3

my pronouns are she/her!

my personally type is ENFP!

my zodiac sign in virgo!

if i had to say what alignment i am, it would be chaotic neutral LMAO

im 5’7, slightly on the curvy side. i have long-ish, black curly hair and brown eyes. i wear round, black glasses. i have a couple of pierces and tattoos!

if you go on Pinterest and look up “Tumblr aesthetic 2014 grunge” and that is my dream aesthetic if i wasn’t so lazy - i only wear leggings and hoodies…

my favorite anime right now is Tokyo Revengers <3 also slightly obsessed with hazbin hotel and helluva boss

the games that my friends and i have played / play are - Twisted Wonderland and Obey Me

i have one cat and one dog <3

my favorite food is sushi! i also LOVE DR. PEPPER <3333 its like BAD

i feel like i dont have that many hobbies because i work ALOT. my friends say that i am a workaholic :( when Im at work, i basically run around like the world is going to end if that task isn’t done in the next two seconds. i have the mind set of “if you want things done right, you have to do it yourself” - which stresses me out and idk why I am like that HAHA

but when im not working, i love to write for my friends - mostly it will be about whatever fandom that we are into at the moment. (tbh i never end up finishing the stories because i get lazy haha).

my dream goal in life is to write angsty romance novel - like enemies to lovers (which is my FAVORITE TROUPE) and become an author.

as well, I am IN LOVE WITH MUSIC! every year that my Spotify wrap comes out my friends are SHOOK about how many different genres, artist and amount of time i listen to music for. for example, this year i listened to 75 different genres, 2,864 songs and 1,595 different artist!!

my top artist were : Pierce The Viel, Taylor Swift, Chase Atlantic, Rosenfeld, and Fall Out Boy :)

my top songs were : emergency contact, habits, this is why im hot, cardigan, and ceilings <3

my top genres were : pop, pop : indie, pop punk, rap, and alt z (whatever that is LMFAO)

this year i listened to : 32,897 minutes

my favorite thing to do is make playlist based on shows and characters to show my friends about how I feel <3

ive been told that i look very intimidating and mean, but once you get to know me im an uwu baby. that im very down to earth and emotional. but i make friends very easily - considering people have told me even though i look mean but i have an inviting aura which draws them in.

i’m pretty extroverted lol i make friends wherever i go and always see people i know whenever im out

i have a hard time expressing myself verbally. that whenever i try to tell someone how i feel about something, i start to get tongue-tie and stressed and upset. probably cause i feel too much at the same time :( so what i end up doing is just writing out how i feel and showing them (which is kind of rare lol)

but when Im talking about something that i love - Iiget loud LMFAO I start to talk with my hands more than i already do, i start talking very fast. then when i noticed that im doing that, i stop and apologize for being annoying HAHAH

my friends call me a tsundere (only applies with anime characters - not IRL people) because there will be a character that i cannot stand at first and then i will start to slowly like them and be VERY MEAN AND ANGRY ABOUT IT. eventually that character will turn into one of my favorite characters and i love them with all my heart - but will still be mad about it.

but tbh i’m such a hopeless romantic! if we’re dating i love you with all my heart.

my love language are : quality time, physical touch and words of affirmation. i will want to spend all my time with you. i am a very touchy person. words of affirmation is very important to me because i am very self conscious about basically everything about me *sigh* BUT IM TRYING TO WORK ON IT <3

SORRY I FEEL LIKE I WROTE SO MUCH! SORRY IF NONE OF THIS MAKE SENSE LOL

i hope you have an amazing day! stay cool

Hi there. I can’t stay cool because I’m not cool lol. It makes sense and it’s not too much. The more info the easier it is to find your perfect match. Idk how far you are in Tokyo Revengers. Let’s do this and I hope you enjoy.

You Got…

Kokonoi Hajime!!!!

He loves romance. (If you’ve seen season 3 you kind of get it). Love is something he really wants. And when he falls, he falls hard!

He works a lot too, so don’t worry about him getting mad at you.

He is patient and kind of a sweetheart. He wouldn’t get annoyed by your hand talking and getting passionate.

He’s been good friends with Inui (Inupi, Discount Sabo, etc. Boy has so many names lol!!!!), who does express himself much. He’d be able to figure it out and help as much as he could (his solution probably would include money).

He’d tell you he appreciates and loves you as much as he can. He can be a little emotionally constipated. He’ll probably also buy you stuff to show how much he cares.

If you love a character or band, expect lots of merch from him.

He’d love to hear your stories, especially angsty romance. He’s kind of an example angsty romance so…yeah.

I think you two would have similar music tastes and idk why. If he isn’t a Swiftie, I don’t know anything anymore.

[cactuseri]

saw this and wanted to make my own post real quick bc i’ve gotten some questions abt my art before & now that i feel a bit more secure in my style i thought i’d give a few tips to anyone who wanted that :)

first i have to address how the submission is phrased: i'm sorry & i know no one wants to hear this but “keep practicing” is not a platitude that is always going to be the best advice 😭 the real question is:

how do you make practice fun?

1. challenge yourself in a way you find enjoyable/fulfilling :)

i liked doing things like art prompts from inktobers, and to draw comics of the stories i wrote, but mostly the answer for me was “set random number goal, meet random number goal, inject the validation from completed goal directly into my bloodstream, repeat.”

i worked on things kind of systematically, which just made my brain happy; i spent one summer when i was 14 doing nothing but drawing 10 full bodies a day, all with references of course. did the same throughout the fall with hands, then eyes, then expressions, then clothes, etc etc. it always had to be 10 diff angles and positions.

i did a repeat of this 10-drawings-of-10-angles rule throughout quarantine in 2020. failed all my online classes cuz i was drawing 6-10 hours every day and ignoring my homework but still passed the year in the end 💀 i got the idea from yumeii-art; it's been over 7 years since, so idk if i remember right, but she had given a similar rule of thumb as a response to someone's question about drawing without a reference, i think.

is this the Best path? probably not, idk. and it definitely lead to awkward phases where i was much better at drawing bodies than faces, for example — but it worked for me. i liked breaking things down like that, it felt more manageable.

the other number goal was. in 9th grade i saw this post:

and i was like. y’know what? yeah. i keep feeling bad abt my art, how about i put that feeling on pause until after i’ve filled 14 sketch book. i hope this user knows i owe all my achievements to the phrase “fill 14 sketch book” powering me through years of depression and art block.

so i did fill 14 sketch book!

i met that goal between ages 14 and 19. obv this doesnt include the doodles on my homework, on other random surfaces, or the ~150 digital artworks i’d done in that time, so maybe it was more like 16 sketch book? but that doesnt matter, i had 14 labeled & organized sketchbooks that were full, and i did feel better about my art by then. this was my anime training montage. this was 90% of my improvement. this was the best art advice i’d ever gotten.

so i guess what made art the most fun to me was numbers? which sounds lame but i guess since i’m competitive & love competing against myself the most, it just worked for me.

comparisons, with 2016 on the left and 2020 on the right:

(the new sketches are still rough and lack some detail ofc but i have terrible ADHD and always found it hard to sit down and keep working on a sketch once it was “done enough” — for some reason i dont rlly have the same impatience with digital art & have less of a problem completing pieces on my ipad now) (the point is. 14 sketch book level complete. 1000% worth it)

then my 2021-2024 improvement, when i had bought my own ipad and again spent most days drawing instead of doing my schoolwork (i.. did end up failing that first year of uni):

2. try out different mediums aimlessly!

what i mean is just go ham with some charcoal or whatever you have on hand, without the determination to Make It Good. i can’t say if this helped my actual art get better but what it did do was keep the joy of it alive & i had fun which lead to more practice & therefore improvement. color pencils weirdly were my favorite. hell, my school had us do a project with linoleum printing (is that how u spell it idk) and it gave me months’ worth of art inspo.

i also recently got a gift card for a stationery store and got some nice markers and those also gave me a ton of motivation. markers r good

3. if u do digital art, find ur fave brush; it will be ur familiar ur trusted companion ur lover in a past life

for lineart i mostly use the IGB office pack, favorite ballpoint. you’ll have to buy & download it online tho i think it was like $7? but yea it was worth it. (i did a lot of work with the gesinski ink brush in past years but i think it’s a bit too “sharp” now)

but also go crazy try them all it’s fun!

4. in my opinion it’s fine to do redraws of ur fave artist’s work now and then — as long as u keep it to urself and dont take credit for it

i’ve had ppl ask to use my art as a ref and my answer is always Not Sure Why You’d Want To Bc It’s Not All That, But Yes Of Course. as u can see most of my 2021 work was redrawing panels of the “gangsta.” manga; it didn’t even end up influencing my style much, my style was already based on all the manga shit i drew at 13, but it was the only thing i was motivated enough to draw at the time, and it was valuable practice.

art teachers still stress that the best reference is to draw from life & yeah thats true maybe but idc sometimes ur just not feeling that! so mix it up, whatever works. obviously respect it if an artist says not to reference their work and don’t only reference ur art from one artist but generally i think it’s harmless.

especially when there’s a specific thing an artist does very well that’s hard to find other examples of; personally i was fighting for my life trying to find how to best translate references of dynamic movement into art of dynamic movement. and i think the bnha mangaka does this wonderfully so i often referenced thise action panels as practice. and i think it helped loosen up my art style. (and… i was extremely ridiculously mentally ill about hawks so that…. contributed…. my fave ask to date is still the person who clocked hawks as my old fave character based purely on how i draw eyes 😭😭)

tracing is a diff conversation and my advice there is it is not actually helpful and it's. idk it feels very Against Artist Code. sometimes, and i havent done it in a couple years, but if a piece REALLY isnt working i've done the thing where u trace the general movement of a pose then go from there but i've never posted completed works where i used that method bc it felt wrong. but yeah that's a separate thing that i don't wanna go too deep into

5. another fun thing that motivated me to practice was doing speedpaints!

if you draw on procreate, it's probably set up automatically already. i don't have the storage to record everything, but when i do have it on, the knowledge that i'll have a speedpaint of the finished piece pushes me to put the last necessary touches on it. (if you'd like to see some of my speedpaints i have a few on my instagram)

some more technical advice:

1. flip your canvas flip your canvas flip your goddamn canvas i KNOW it hurts i KNOW it’s like ripping off a bandaid that’s superglued to ur skin i know but YOU HAVE TO FLIP YOUR CANVAS

(when i didn’t have an ipad i’d do this by taking a picture of the drawing on my phone and flipping the image in the photo app)

IT IS THE WORST THING IN THE WORLD AND IM NOT ASHAMED TO ADMIT I’VE RAGE QUIT SOME PIECES OVER SEEING THE CANVAS FLIPPED BUT LOOK AT THIS ART BEFORE AND AFTER I’D FLIPPED IT AND FIXED HOW WONKY IT WAS: desaturated so tht the colors dont distract so much

like it's the BEST and honestly often the ONLY way you're going to catch things that were off/out of proportion/etc. flipping your canvas gives your brain a "new eye" and it's invaluable.

2. until you have color theory figured out…. i honestly depend on adding layers and setting them to color dodge, divide, multiply, overlay, etc…. i am cheating, perhaps, but it works

3. this is how i draw front-facing noses because it's what a czech woman in an extremely bad mood taught me in a cramped overheated stuffy classroom in germany when i was 12

it was our only meeting but she changed my life. i do not know how common this method is but it's possibly the only thing i can concretely give you a tutorial for. after a few times you won't need to do step 1 anymore

anddd i think that's all the advice i have that wouldn't be a repeat of every other art advice thing you've seen. i do know it boils down to "keep practicing" but again you won't get around that, and i just hope that concretely showing what's motivated me might help motivate someone else.

as an ending note, please take this sentence that motivated me just as much as the 14 sketch book rule: (via graveweaver, author of the webtoon "i'm the grim reaper")

[gimmethatagustd]

hi bestie <3

i’m not sure if you’ve done this already, but do you have a list of recs for yandere ffs?

i love all the recs you share, so i just had to ask 🤭

ahh bestie hi 🥹

i haven't shared any yandere fics yet! idk if you're looking for only reader-inserts or if you'd like mxm, too, so I'll give you both just in case~ (including shameless plugs, I'm sorry jshdkfjs). i haven't read a ton of yandere yet, but i want to.

posses your heart (ot7) by @/chans-room

camgirl au, was on hiatus but won't be anymore!

i haven't read celestial ruin yet, but it's on my tbr list:

celestial ruin (myg, knj) by @remedyx

Just being in his proximity made my skin crawl. As if his tainted wings were contagious and I was putting myself at risk just being near him. Yoongi was corruption incarnate. Once revered upon his throne and now cast aside for the sins he committed. Inky wings replacing the beautiful gold they used to be. The sign of the Fallen. And the way he looked at me said he wouldn’t be sinking alone.

i think hali put fix you on permanent hiatus, but i'm sharing it anyway 🤷🏽‍♀️ cuz it was a good first chapter and maybe you'll check out hali's other stories after experiencing her lovely writing:

fix you (myg) by @sailoryooons

Your crumbling relationship with Kim Taehyung finally reaches the point of no return after struggling to keep it going after a nightmare you’re unlikely to forget. Min Yoongi is there to pick up the pieces – but you had no idea how ready he was to try and fix you.

streets (jjk drabble) by yours truly

I can’t sleep no more / In my head, we belong / And I can’t be without you / Why can’t I find no one like you?

here's a list of yandere fics by @/theharrowing. i haven’t read all of them, but I did read Boy Blue, and it's really good! harrow has a few other yandere fics, too.

they're all reader-inserts with yoongi and taehyung

the wind speaks (vmin) by yours truly

Something’s living under the dock at the Kim family’s beach house.

blood on the sheets (kth) by yours truly

Despite what some people may think, your roommate isn’t a monster. You know Taehyung; he’d never hurt anyone

ghostface killers (myg) by yours truly

You’ve had your eyes set on Yoongi for as long as you can remember. What you didn’t know is that he’s had his eyes on you, too.

twilight zone (taegi) by bandit4life

Sometimes monsters don’t hide under the bed, sometimes they hide behind mirrors - watching, waiting for the moment to strike, to kill. But Taehyung’s goal has changed over time. It was pure curiosity at first. He only wanted to observe, wanted to find the flaw in the seemingly perfect human. He didn’t expect Yoongi to hide a dark secret. “I’ve always known there was something off about you. But I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

carmen (vmin) by @/sailoryooons

Taehyung gets lured to an exclusive club by a strange, enchanting woman. What finds him there is much more intoxicating and dangerous.

dreamy (taekook) by paperwetwithink

When Jeongguk gets sleepy these days, it kind of feels like there's something watching.